The Young Bear and the Maiden Fair
by MissyMaestro
Summary: A slightly different take to Jorah Mormont's second marriage and Lynesse Hightower.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: A varied take to the Jorah/Lynesse storyline. Not all details are canon, of course, but I think this will be fun! I also have another Jorah story called The Queensguard.**

The brisk morning was falling right in line with Ser Jorah Mormont's life of late. Dazzling sparkles bounced over the waves, a pleasant breeze blew, and his cloak billowed behind him majestically. Perfection couldn't be achieved, but this felt quite close to it.

Jorah and his man Dorian were out on the water, fishing poles forgotten in the boat as they marveled at the morning. Bear Island was a cold northern land where sunshine was as rare as a red comet. That morning, though, golden rays smiled upon them like strangers.

He couldn't help but chuckle to himself. _Ser Jorah, Lord of Bear Island._ Both titles were new and foreign to his tongue. King Robert Baratheon had given him the first; he rode valiantly and perhaps foolishly, but survived the siege at Pyke. The second part of his title came from Jeor Mormont, his lord father. Not a week ago, he rode off to serve as Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, leaving his only son in charge of his ancestral home and all those who dwell there. He was certainly old enough to rule, but the notion seemed a dream still.

 _Ser Jorah, Lord of Bear Island._

"Stop it," Dorian scoffed. "You look like an utter asshole." When Jorah shook his head at him and shrugged, he laughed. "You've got that look."

"What look?"

Dorian, Jorah's oldest friend and fellow northman, rolled his eyes. "The lord look. You'll be sure not to get all stuffy now that you're a lord, aye?" He cuffed him in the side. "I won't be _m'lord_ ing you or bowing or any of that. You're still the bloke we chased girls around with in the pubs, right?"

"Right." Jorah grinned.

"But I'm sure after your big festival tonight, the girls will be the ones doing the chasin', eh?" He huffed jealously. "A knight _and_ a lord. They couldn't have picked a more undeserving bastard."

Jorah rolled his eyes and gave Dorian a shove. Truly, he'd been regarding the feast to celebrate his ascension with a certain apprehension. Pomp and pristine ceremony had never been his preferred revelry. If he had a choice, the party would have been among friends and family and involved ale and games.

"Now," Dorian laughed, "promise me you won't-" His voice trailed off. He leapt to his feed suddenly enough to rock the boat. "What's that?" he interrupted.

Jorah turned. Pieces of wood were floating in with the tide. "We have no ships out, no ships due to arrive," he said cautiously.

"Too much wreckage to be a smaller vessel," Dorian added.

"The Starks always send a raven if they'll be traveling," Jorah worried. He reached for a paddle. "We need to look for survivors."

Dorian pulled a looking glass from his pocket and shook his head. "There's nothing but this for miles, it seems. No masts. No people. Nothing." Still shaking his head, he shrugged. "Whatever sorry ship this was will have broken up days and miles ago. We're no good." The looking glass _clink_ ed as he tucked it back in his pocket.

"Pity," Jorah growled. "Let's go back. Someone ought to survey the damage. I'll send a team. There will be bodies that need recovering somewhere."

Dutifully reaching for a paddle, Dorian sighed. "Those sorry bastards. A stormy night and a dip in this freezing water is no way to die."

Jorah _mmm_ ed his agreement before pausing. His eyes narrowed and he cocked his head to one side. "Do you hear that?" When Dorian shook his head, Jorah dunked his oar into the water. "Row," he commanded.

"There's that lord's voice again."

"There's someone alive out there. Someone's calling!" Jorah barked. "Row!"

* * *

" _Please,_ " she cried out to the sky. "Please, Mother, save me. Stranger, save me. Someone _help me!"_

The shipwreck had been violent and sudden; lightning and flames and water, chaos in every direction. Crew sworn to protect her house shoved the lady out of the way and swore at her. At some point the ship lurched and she fell, hitting her head. Details beyond that were disjointed. Screams and the clash of swords filled the air. Somehow she ended up in the water.

" _Alerie!"_ she'd screamed. Her closest sister was still on the ship as it splintered and sank. A guard shoved her back and she could see Alerie no more. Her head still fuzzy, the woman tumbled into the water. None cared. She screamed in horror, gasping and gulping and desperately clawing at the water to stay afloat.

When the ship went under completely, a safety boat floated nearby and she managed to pull herself into it, collapsing for who knows how long.

Now she squeezed her eyes shut and prayed as hard as she could to the gods. Weak without food or water, she already knew death was close at hand. Her fair skin was pink from exposure. Soft hands had dried out and cracked and bled. How many days had she been on the water, she wondered. It didn't matter anymore. Now her boat had crashed into some jagged piece of wreckage in the night and she was taking on water slowly but damningly. A few inches of water in the boat chilled her and soaked through her gown.

" _A boat,_ " a far-off voice came.

Her blonde head poked over the side of the boat. "Here!" she called weakly. For days she'd rued her upbringing. Had she been trained as a man, she'd know how to save herself. The sorrows of impending doom had mingled with anger at her uselessness and grief that her parents, siblings, and entire household staff were dead. Life was bleak. She prayed to die. Until then. A savior appeared and she would have wept in relief if she had any tears to spare. Instead, the lightheadedness finally took over and she knew blackness.

"Shit, it's a girl! She's _alive!_ " Dorian lurched forward, nearly overturning the boat. "Fuck, and a right lady, too, by the looks of her."

Jorah blinked in disbelief. A lady, indeed. The woman was in distress, to be certain, but was still perhaps the most beautiful human he'd ever seen. Her long blonde hair had come down and clung to her pale neck and shoulders. Everything about her sharp features pulled at him. "Help me with her, quickly," he managed.

The deep green satin fabric of her gown made her heavier than she appeared, but with a solid heave they pulled her out of her waterlogged craft.

"Hey," Dorian demanded of the unconscious woman, "hey, get up. Is anyone else alive out there? Hello, hello in there?"

Dark eyelashes fluttered momentarily before green eyes struggled to open.

Dorian spoke to her then, Jorah knew, but he didn't hear the words. Something like love at first sight stirred in him. The woman was the living form of the image he'd conjured in his mind of the perfect woman. She was the Maid herself. The emerald eyes, though, were something he'd have never been able to fathom. "My lady," he murmured in wonder. "Tell me your name."

"Aren't you listening? She just said there are no survivors," Dorian snapped. "What's come over you?" He turned back to the woman. "We'll send out a crew anyway, to search. Who are you traveling with, my lady?"

"My family," the woman whispered before falling back into unconsciousness. "I'm the last one."

* * *

The maester blinked in disbelief. "My lord, who-?" He was a short, squat man who looked more the part of friendly innkeep than medical sage.

Jorah stood in the infirmary with a soaked unconscious woman in his arms. Her head lulled back and forth slightly though he tried to cradle it. "There was a shipwreck. She's the only survivor so far."

"Bring her," the maester urged him. "Come, come. She'll be chilled to the bone, the poor thing."

He carried her to the bed and gently eased her onto it. She moaned softly and clutched at the large black cloak – Jorah's – that he'd wrapped around her.

"Looks like you won't be getting that back in time for tonight," Dorian commented.

"It's hers, then," Jorah shrugged. "Doesn't matter." He clasped a hand on the maester's arm. "She said she's just lost her entire family. Be kind to her. Be-"

"No time to lose, my lord," the maester announced. "There will be time to catch up when she's awake." He brought a small blade and sliced the front of her dress open, tugging it harshly until it gave way. "These wet clothes have to go."

Jorah cleared his throat and averted his eyes. "I'll – I'll be nearby. Send for me when she wakes."

"My lord, you have a busy day ahead of you. Have no worry, she'll be well taken care of-" The maester grunted and gave another mighty tug. The fabric ripped noisily as the gown gave in and split down to the groin.

"Call for me when she wakes," Jorah repeated, turning and grabbing Dorian by the front of the tunic to pull him along.

"There it is, that lord voice," Dorian chuckled, craning and looking over his shoulder. "Perhaps we should stay, you know, just to ensure-"

"Shut up," Jorah snarled again.

* * *

The room was unfamiliar when she woke up. Shivering and naked, she glanced around. Stone floor, stone walls. This wasn't her room and it wasn't even a familiar room. _Where am I?_

A portly maester with a heavy chain appeared and smiled down at her. "Don't be afraid, my lady, it is just us present. No need for modesty, you must be warmed. Hypothermia is something I've treated at least once a month since my time on Bear Island." With that he pressed a warm damp cloth against her stomach and another on her chest. "The hunters think if they just chase that stag another mile, they'd get the kill, but instead they come back with black fingers when the storms catch them instead." He chuckled. "Northmen are stubborn, you see? I can tell by your lovely complexion that you are most certainly not of the North."

"N-no," her teeth chattered. "M-m-might I have a warm bath? I-i-it's s-s-so cold."

"I'm afraid not, my lady." The maester brought more warm rags and placed them on her groin, neck, armpits. "Warming you too quickly is dangerous. You'll be warm before you know it. I've just built up the fire. And here, this is heavier than any blanket I might have," he commented as he draped a large black cloak over her next. "He left it for you."

She pulled it snug around her. "He?"

He nodded. "My apologies, my lady. I wasn't sure if you were awake when they found you. Young Ser Jorah. Brought you here himself. Very concerned."

"The man in the boat," she breathed. "Ser Jorah _Mormont_?" She breathed in deeply and took in the scent of the cloak. It warmed her differently than the hot rags. A valiant knight pulling her from what would have been her ocean floor grave. It was too perfect to be true. _I must be dreaming._ The dream was far more pleasant than the horrible reality, though, so she embraced it. "You must be mistaken. We sailed for Pyke. We cannot be this far north."

Chuckling, the maester nodded. "I'm afraid you're as North as you can get, save for the wall. Ser Jorah is indeed lord of this land. I take it you were present for the tournament at Lannisport, then?"

She nodded. "He unhorsed the Kingslayer."

"That he did, my lady. And the lord is eager to see you when you're well." He suddenly brought a finger to his chin in thought. "I'll need to find dry clothes for you. There's going to be a feast tonight."

"A feast?"

"Why, yes, Ser Jorah's father has taken the black and left your knight lord of Bear Island. There will be quite the celebration this evening." He smiled kindly. "Ser Jorah says he'll be by this afternoon for a word. But might I ask your name, m'lady?"

"Lynesse Hightower."


	2. Bear Island

The maester tapped at Jorah's open door before scurrying in. "My lord, the lady is awake, dressed, and ready for a visitor."

Jorah nodded. "Is she well? May I see her?" He was dressed for the feast. A black high necked tunic buttoned up the front with a dozen silver studs. A fine black and green cape hung from his shoulders, fastened on with black bear pins. Already he felt like tearing the finery off in favor of a tunic or armor, but he was certain he could bear it for one evening. At least his favorite boots were occasion-appropriate.

Smiling, the maester held his hands open. "My lord, Bear Island is yours. I cannot give you leave to do anything."

Grinning, Jorah clapped him on the shoulder. "Right. That's right. Thank you, Maester."

When he poked his head in to the infirmary, his breath caught in his chest. The woman, beautiful even as she'd been half-drowned, certainly _was_ the Maid herself. Sitting up in bed, she was writing on a bit of parchment; no doubt notifying her bannermen that the house had been devastated. Despite the sadness on her face, Jorah had never seen such beauty. Her hair had been combed, dried, and styled into two long braids that draped down over her breasts. Underneath his cloak, she wore a gown of black and silver. Unable to simply behold her any longer, he stepped into the room. "My lady," he greeted her in a soft tone. "Are you well?"

"My lord," the woman replied, bowing her head. "I owe you my life. Your company would be an honor." Her voice was low with sorrow, but she kept her poise.

"I trust Maester Wynn has taken good care of you?"

She smiled and set her quill down. "The best."

"I'm afraid we haven't made proper introductions." He straightened. "Though our first meeting hardly spared time for them. I'm Jorah Mormont. Lord of Bear Island."

A genuine smile danced across her lips. "Lynesse Hightower, if it pleases my lord. I was at Lannisport when you unhorsed the Kingslayer."

"You were?" Jorah replied. "Certainly not. I'd have crowned you Queen of Love and Beauty the moment I saw you."

"Likely not," Lynesse scoffed. "I was with my sisters, the whole lot of them. Alerie, my older sister, is," she hesitated and her face fell, " _was_ the most beautiful." The smile vanished from her face and was replaced by an expressionless mask. "She _was._ Not anymore."

That made Jorah grow solemn. Bowing his head, he spoke softly. "My lady, I'm sorry. My men haven't found any survivors. They'll search until they recover your family and men."

She swiped a tear away before it could fall. "My entire house was on that ship." Her green eyes turned upward to the young lord. "What do I do now?" This time, the tears came on too suddenly and Lynesse couldn't react before they spilled down her cheeks. "I have nothing in Oldtown now, no family left." The words came out in uneven pitches. Her voice cracked as she began to cry. Common decency told her to stop blathering before a lord, but her grief bucked off what she _should_ do. Who would chastise her now, anyway? Not her family. "I don't know what to do, where to go." She sniffled and wiped her nose.

"Be my guest," Jorah jumped in. "Stay on Bear Island as long as you wish. You're welcome to anything you'd like." He knelt by the bed and took her hand. "You have a home here, if you want it. It's little help against your grief, but know that you aren't adrift." His heart was pounding and adrenaline coursed through his arms as if he was riding into battle. When she pulled her hand back as if she'd been burned, he felt his heart break.

"I couldn't, my lord, I-" Lynesse shook her head. "We are sworn to House Tyrell. My sister's husband, perhaps, would take me into his household." The notion made her cry harder. There was something about the Tyrells that frightened her, and she couldn't imagine being fostered there like an old maid.

"Please, only worry about recovering for this day." He took her hand once more. "You are safe. The entire island is full of warriors. No further evil can befall you here." He nodded hopefully. "Come, if you feel like it, to the feast tonight. It will give you a distraction from the sorrow. I know what you're feeling, to a degree. My lady mother died a few years ago. I found only distraction helped push away the gloom."

She nodded and sniffled. "Thank you for your kindness, my lord."

"Please, my lady," Jorah said, kissing the back of her hand. "Call me Jorah. I am not your lord. It seems we are equal children of equal houses."

"Then I'm Lynesse." She sniffed again and regained her breath. "Forgive me. I thought I'd spent all of my tears."

"Lynesse," he breathed. "I am so sorry for what's happened to you." He stood. "I have some matters to attend to, but please feel free to let me know if there's anything you want for."

"My family," Lynesse sighed.

Jorah's heart broke as he bowed to her and left the infirmary.

* * *

Music played, lords and ladies mingled, and Dorian stood dumbstruck in the middle of the feast. "Jorah," he blurted, staring at the door. Ned Stark and his young wife Cat strode into the timber hall. "The _Starks_ came for this?" Dorian nudged the lord and pointed. "Shit. You must be a big deal to bring them this far north." He brushed crumbs from his tunic. "I feel like I've been doin' something wrong. I haven't. Why do I feel like this?" He cleared his throat. "You think he'll remember me?"

"I'm not certain," Jorah replied in pleasant surprise. "I never expected them. I haven't seen Ned since the war."

"Now you're on his level as a hoity-toity lord," Dorian grumbled. "I'll need an ale for this encounter. Want one?" Jorah nodded and Dorian slipped away just as the Starks approached.

"Ser Jorah!" Ned boomed as he made his way through the crowd. "Lord Mormont it is, now, eh? Isn't it strange?" He grinned broadly and clapped Jorah on the back. "Congratulations. It's nice to have someone my own age in the same station. You'll see how trying it can be to get these old shits to pay you respect." He chuckled. "You'll back me up if I need it, right? Believe me, I'll need you."

Jorah bowed. "Lord Stark."

"Ned, Ned, Ned," he corrected him. "Call me Ned. Please. Lords are for ceremonies like this and formal occasions. You've never met my wife, I believe? This is Catelyn Tully. Cat."

Cat, lovely with deep red hair, bowed briefly. "Ser Jorah. I'm pleased to meet you. I believe we've just missed each other several times."

"Certainly. I'd remember such a handsome woman." Jorah smiled and kissed her hand. "How are your children? A boy and a girl, is that right?"

"Robb and Sansa are well, thank you for caring to ask!" Cat beamed. She smiled to Ned. "You're right about these northern lords."

"And my bastard Jon is at Winterfell with us, too," Ned added, coolling Cat's excitement. "I know most of these Northmen," he changed the subject as he glanced around the room. "Yet that woman I'm not sure I'm familiar with. A wife of one of your men?" He pointed at Lynesse Hightower, who had just entered the hall and was looking around shyly.

Just then, Dorian appeared and slapped Jorah on the shoulder. He'd also spotted her. "Is that truly our girl from earlier?" he asked, awestruck. "Look at that. If you thought she was a sight earlier when she looked like a half drowned rat, you must be salivating now, eh?"

"Shut up," Jorah grumbled, returning the nudge.

"Drowned?" Cat asked in surprise. One of her red eyebrows quirked.

"Aye," Jorah nodded. "Washed up this morning. Dorian, would you fetch her?"

"Certainly," he answered, wiggling his eyebrows.

Ned chuckled and Jorah groaned in annoyance. Cat, however, found no humor in the moment. "Who is she? What happened?"

Jorah lowered his voice and leaned in toward Cat. "My men only just sent word that they found the shipwreck. Had to search all day; it's south of here some hours. House Hightower was traveling to the Iron Islands. They were caught in a storm and ran aground in shallow water. The ship broke up. She's the only one who survived because someone knocked her overboard earlier, or so she told Maester Wynn." Jorah frowned. "I didn't expect her to come this evening. She must be exhausted."

Dorian returned with both Lynesse and the portly maester. True, he'd never seen Lynesse at her best or even average, but she looked fittingly exhausted.

"Lord Mormont," Maester Wynn greeted him. "The lady is quite well, but I think she should retire early, and I've told her as much."

"Thank you, Maester," Jorah eagerly nodded. "I shall see to her needs myself." He smiled to Lynesse, then gestured to the Starks. "Lady Hightower, might I present Ned Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, and his lady wife Cat Tully?"

"The Starks of Winterfell," Lynesse nodded, then curtsied. "So pleased to meet you. My father told great stories about your service to Robert Baratheon during the rebellion, Lord Eddard. It's an honor, truly."

"My lady," Cat interrupted before Ned could reply. "You've had such a trying day. There's no need for such formality."

Jorah nodded. "You're among friends, Lady Lynesse."

Lynesse nodded, then heaved a sigh and let out a shaky laugh. "Thank you. I so appreciate that."

Cat beamed. "I actually mean to go make the rounds and chat with the Mormont women. Would you like to join me? I hate to disrespect the new lord, but I'm certain he and my husband will just spend the rest of the night trading battle stories." She smiled as the men exchanged glances and nodded.

"That would be nice," Lynesse smiled. "Thank you." As Cat led her away, she glanced back at Jorah, smiling warmly.

Once they were out of earshot of the men, Cat squeezed her arm. "You're very brave. Your house would be so pleased at how you're presenting yourself. Our duty as women is never easy, never fair. I've learned that the hard way more than once," she said through gritted teeth. "Should you need to retire and feel your sorrow, I'm certain no one would say a word. It's too much, too much." She turned and looked Lynesse in the face. "Are you certain you're well, my lady?"

Lynesse tossed a braid over her shoulder and took a breath before putting on a brave smile. "I've felt my sorrow as I drifted asea for who knows how long." She glanced around the hall at the revelers and noted how different they were from Oldtown, how different the hall was from her grand palace. "I'm certain the sorrow will return. I love adventure, but I shall grow homesick and lonely. My sister Alerie was my most loved friend. I cannot believe they're all gone, and so swiftly. The decimation of a house." She shook her head. "It doesn't feel real. When it does, I'll mourn again."

Cat frowned. "You were spared for a reason, I think, my lady. The gods were not done with you. You have a greater purpose. Let that be your strength. Come, let's meet the women who are hosting us. The Mormont women are hard and unkind. Just ignore them. They hate anyone who isn't a northerner. Most unlike Ser Jorah. He's a good man. You're safe here under his care," Cat nodded.

Lynesse blushed. "Ser Jorah pulled me from the water and gave me his cloak." She stroked the dark fur at her shoulders. "I'm afraid I'm a bit enamored with him. I'm certain the feeling will fade away. It's been quite a trying day and he was my hero."

Cat giggled. "Oh, I could tell you a thing or two about northern men that might make you want to keep that feeling." She snickered and clutched Lynesse's arm as the blonde woman laughed behind her hand. "I think we'll be good friends, Lynesse."

* * *

Once the tables had been cleared, Dorian sauntered over and clapped Jorah on the back. " _Lord Mormont_ ," he announced sarcastically. "The proper northern ladies are retiring and the lords are thirsty. It's time to celebrate properly." He pressed a horn of ale into Jorah's hand. "To the lord's health and all that shit."

It didn't take long for Dorian and Jorah to catch up to the rest of the drunk guests. Jorah felt a certain amount of swagger swell more lords he'd seen his father drink with raise their glasses to _him._

"Hey, you great bear lord!" a cheery voice came.

"Jory!" Jorah called to the small woman with brown hair cut short. Jory was his favorite cousin, the most friendly of the rough Mormont women. She could swing an axe with the best of them, but also enjoyed conversation, laughter, and pretty women. "Where have you been all evening? Playing a proper lady? I won't have it." He took a drink. "You're a Mormont, not a fancy Lannister woman."

"Aye, I am!" Jory cheered, snatching his horn and drinking deeply from it. "I see that shipwrecked Hightower woman is wearing your cloak," she said, nodding toward the other end of the hall, where Cat Stark and Lynesse Hightower were giggling near the sweets table. "Are you going to keep that pretty little woman here?" She licked her teeth. "If she'd have me, I'd fight you for her."

Jorah cracked a grin. "I'll not upset the house by slaying my cousin over a woman. I opened Bear Island to her for as long as she wants or needs to stay."

"Dacey's not glad to have her," Jory shrugged. "And were mother here, she'd be disgusted, too. If you keep that woman, she'll never be able to bring in firewood or defend the island. Dacey's already given her and Lady Stark a piece of her mind." She took another drink, draining his horn. "You're going to want to apologize for her." She belched and wiped her lips.

Jorah grimaced. Jory's older sister Dacey was a mean as they came, and ugly to boot. He feared she'd never leave Bear Island, as none would marry her. "Did you stop her?" Jorah asked. "Lady Cat is our liege and Lynesse is a guest and doesn't need to be bringing in her own firewood, anyway."

"Of course I did," Jory answered. "I'm always looking for a reason to fight that cunt sister of mine. Plus, someone has to be knight in shining armor for that lovely blonde goddess." She winked again.

Laughing, Jorah jokingly flexed his arms. "If you want a contest to win her affections, I've got a head start. I saved her life."

A light voice from behind Jorah made him choke and Jory cackle in delight. "Ser Dorian reminded me several times that he spotted my boat. I guess that makes the two of you equal in that contest."

Jorah spun and dropped his arms. "Lady Lynesse." There she stood, her cheeks rosier and eyes brighter than before. A coy smile played at her lips and Jorah's heart thudded out of rhythm. "Forgive me. The ale and-"

Lynesse winked. "I've been told several times this evening already that I'm likely to be the only topic of conversation for some time here. Small island and all." She smiled to Jory. "They also told me to befriend you because your sisters already hate me."

"That they do," Jory nodded. "I mean, look at you. You're the Maiden compared to any woman here."

"Jory," Jorah growled.

"It's quite all right," Lynesse said with a lopsided smile. She turned and watched the boisterous northerners who remained at the feast, sipping daintily at her wine. "That's an interesting dance. Do you know it, Ser Jorah?"

"I, I do," Jorah nodded. He watched as the northmen twirled their wives and serving girls about. It was a clumsy, drunken dance that anyone could do but would never be seen at court anywhere south of Winterfell. "Would you like to dance?" He looked to Jory for reassurance, but she'd disappeared and he was alone with Lynesse. A day ago Jorah had no idea the Hightower woman existed, yet now the weight of the world hung on her answer. "I can show you, if you'd like."

"I thought you'd never ask," Lynesse giggled. "Come on!"


	3. Resolve

When the sorrow set back in, Lynesse made a point to stay in her chambers and mind her own business for several days. There were scrolls to write; distant family members to personally notify of the House's destruction. With the burials at sea, there were no great feasts or funeral ceremonies to host or attend, but Lynesse felt the need to do right by her sisters and parents anyway. As the black ink dried with the dark words, she swore she felt her heart break.

Reality sliced through her and everything ached. Lynesse Hightower was the last of her house. She'd received word that her bannermen were absorbed by the Tyrells. After all, a young woman from the south could hardly command respect from the old lords and their sons. Missing her sisters and realizing her sorry lot, Lynesse broke down. She sobbed until her ribs hurt and her tears had gone. Sweet memories of holidays with her sisters, mornings with her mother, and travels with her father flashed through her mind. Suddenly panicked that she'd forget even the most minute detail about any of it, Lynesse began writing. Her quill scratched frantically as she poured out story after story.

When she sat down the quill hours later, her back and neck twinged in annoyance from hunching over her desk. A strange serenity settled over her. How could she forget her family? She scoffed, but didn't regret the hours she poured into her family history, now carefully recorded in the leather bound book.

"It's up to me," Lynesse whispered to herself. Her father couldn't make a life for her now, and her sisters wouldn't be able to marry into a high station to assure her a kind husband or comfortable home. She smiled fiercely. " _We light the way,"_ she reminded herself. Her family words would be her strength.

Lynesse stood and looked at herself in the long mirror hanging behind the door. She was clever and kind. She would make it in the world. Perhaps her next step wasn't clear, but Lynesse had several ideas in mind. Go to the Tyrells and take Alerie's place. Stay on Bear Island. Travel to Riverrun to wed one of Cat Tully's house. Lynesse beamed. Even without her father, she could figure things out. But first, she realized, she was starving.

"Lynesse!" a woman's voice chased her down the hall as she wandered toward the dining hall.

Cat waved. "Are you off somewhere? I was just coming to see if you cared for company this evening."

"Oh, I'm just looking for something to eat. My appetite has finally returned," Lynesse explained as Cat caught up. She took a deep breath and offered a smile. "I've mourned. I'm ready to live again."

"Excellent. You certainly look hungry," Cat nodded. "Ned and I are meeting Ser Jorah for dinner and games in the pub. Won't you come?"

"Certainly." Lynesse grinned. _Perhaps the rest of my life starts tonight.  
_

* * *

The numbered tiles on the table were scattered in such a way that Jorah couldn't fathom a way to win the round. With his best subtle glance, he tried to let Ned know as much without giving the message to Lynesse or Cat.

Ned missed Jorah's hint and laid down three tiles before dramatically gesturing to his wife. "Your move, my love. I don't think I've left you any, though." He patted Cat's knee. "My apologies. The tileboard is like the battlefield."

The feast was over, but the Starks' visit was set to last a few weeks. Jorah invited them for a night of drinking at the pub and was pleasantly surprised when Cat brought Lynesse, too. As the women easily chatted over their wine, Jorah carefully measured his words and movements. He wanted Lynesse to feel welcome on Bear Island, but wasn't sure how to let her know that without seeming like a vulture swooping in on her while she was most vulnerable. Still, when she walked in with his black fur cloak draped over his shoulders, he wondered what _she_ wanted of him.

Cat rolled her eyes and sighed at Lynesse as Ned smirked. "Let this be an early lesson to you, Lynesse. These northern lords think they're the only ones who go out and have their adventures. Fortunately, we ladies have our secrets and wits, too." She placed a tile and smirked. "I believe that's another win for us."

Ned sat back and stroked his whiskers. "Damn these southern women!" He glanced to Jorah. "Are you certain you can trust this Hightower girl?" He grinned.

"Of course," Jorah nodded, offering Lynesse a kind smile. "She's done nothing but brighten these halls with her beauty. The Maiden herself can do no wrong."

For the first time since being plucked from the sea, Lynesse laughed; a full-throated, delighted roar.

Suddenly embarrassed, Jorah glanced to Ned. "Is- is she not as beautiful as the Maiden? Is that- is that not a compliment in Oldtown?" He cleared his throat. "I only meant to-"

"No, no, that was very kind," Lynesse recovered. "Forgive me, forgive me. I've never been the recipient of such fervent flattery, that's all. My sister Alerie was the beautiful one. I don't believe anyone has ever called me beautiful, much less the _Maiden!"_ She continued to giggle.

"I meant every word," Jorah nodded, quickly raking in the tiles and shuffling them together to ensure he had something else to focus on. He felt his cheeks burning.

Lynesse looked back at Ned, who was chuckling. "But as to whether you can trust a southern woman? I have every confidence that Ser Jorah will find out." She brushed Jorah's arm. "Another round?"

"Of game or drink?" Cat added. "Both, I think. I'll fetch ales. Ned, may I borrow your hands? The tankards here are even larger than at Winterfell."

As the Starks left the table, Jorah cleared his throat. "I've not seen you at meals for several days. I trust Maester Wynn is seeing to you, when you seek solitude?"

"Of course. He's such a kind man," Lynesse nodded. "Don't worry, Lord Mormont. I've been fed and watered and let out to run." She offered a lopsided smile. "If I'd gone hungry it would only have been my fault. Your men are wonderful."

Jorah nodded. "I suppose you're – the shipwreck, I mean _–_ is the first situation I've been to handle as lord." He looked into her eyes. "Am I doing well?" The young man had lost his usual proud scowl. Uncertainty washed over his rugged face and made Lynesse smile fondly.

"My lord, you are." She touched his hand. "Had I washed up on any other land, I'm certain I'd have been sent away, cast into a brothel or the dungeons, or already married against my will to some lord's son."

Jorah looked down to their hands as Lynesse squeezed his fingers.

"You are a fine lord. I'm pleased to be here. I may take you up on your kind offer, actually," she added demurely. "If you have no other need for my room, I thought I might keep it for a time. I quite enjoy it here and it would be nice to have somewhere to stay while I figure out what's next. I'm not much of a traveler, I'm afraid. I've always treasured a home over the road."

The man brightened. "Of course, m'lady. It's yours for as long as you want it."

"Good." Lynesse smiled. "To be frank, I might add that I find your company inspiring. A new lord and a new lady. Perhaps we can learn from each other."

Ned settled back at the table, slamming down a tankard of ale before Jorah. "Learn from _this_ one? If you mean tiles, you'd better find yourself a better teacher. We haven't won once. Cat, you're on my team, since Mormont can't seem to win."

Cat returned and set an ale before Lynesse. "Aye. Here you are. The wine's out, but I think you'll find this suitable."

Lynesse raised an eyebrow. "I've never so much as tried this. It's quite a lot, don't you think?" She struggled to lift the ale with one hand. The heavy mug clattered back against the table. She leaned and sipped at it, then nodded. "It's quite good."

"It will help you stay warm this far north," Cat laughed. "You'll need it. A thousand furs on your bed won't warm you on nights cold as this one."

"That reminds me," Lynesse gasped, turning back to Jorah. "I've had your cloak in my care for some time. I'll return it tomorrow."

Jorah waved his hand. "It's the warmest thing you'll come across. You're unaccustomed to the cold. Keep it."

"Enough chatter," Ned declared. "Let's have a Stark victory, Cat."

* * *

After the third hand in a row Lynesse and Jorah won, Ned finished his drink and angrily slammed the empty tankard down. "You're a bunch of cheating whores."

"Ned," Cat laughed. "Enough."

"Enough indeed." Drunk, Ned stumbled to his feet. "We'll do this again and on my terms, Mormont. You won't best me twice." He shook his finger. "Oh, no. Perhaps we should see steel and steel."

"I'd still best you, my lord," Jorah chuckled. "Especially in this state."

Cat squeezed Lynesse's hand. "Sleep well. Breakfast in the morning?"

"Yes, of course," the blonde replied eagerly. She beamed, truly pleased to have the lady's company for the time being. The Starks would eventually return to Winterfell, but Cat's presence on Bear Island was divinely timed, Lynesse thought.

"Well, we'll be off to our room, then," Cat sighed, rising and grabbing Ned's arm. "Have a good evening, then," she nodded as she snared Ned by the arm and pulled him back toward their room.

Lynesse giggled as she watched them go, a little drunk herself. "This ale _is_ strong." She closed one eye, then the other before toppling to the side of her seat briefly. Righting herself, she cleared her throat. "I'm fine."

Jorah smiled. "I can escort you to your room, if you'd like?"

"Please. I do get turned around in here. _Especially_ after such good drink." She made a face and warmed when Jorah laughed. "You'll probably think I'm as worthless as Lady Dacey makes me out to be."

"Dacey is no lady," Jorah scoffed. "Ignore her and the rest of my cousins. Jory's the only decent one of the lot."

"I mean to make myself useful somehow, I'll have you know." She nodded proudly. "I can do plenty of things that would be useful around here."

"Is that so?" Jorah replied curiously. "You have my interest."

"I- I don't know. I'll figure something out. Being a lady here is different than in Oldtown. I doubt you need a harpist or lots of embroidery." She shrugged. "Those were my main talents."

Jorah scoffed. "Nonsense. We could use the finer arts here. A lady is exactly what Bear Island needs." It was too late; when he realized the words sounded more like a proposal than an agreement, Lynesse was already rolling her eyes.

"What would a northern lord do with a southern lady sitting around his halls?" A twinkle gleamed in her eye. "I can only think of a thing or two." With that, she reached up, pecked Jorah on the cheek, and turned back into her room, skirts and hair twirling before she shut the door with a bright, "Good night!"


	4. Spar

"Elk tonight," Jorah announced as he and one of his men hauled the prize into the kitchens. He stretched in satisfaction. It had been a long day of hunting, but his mouth watered at the thought of the elk stew. After asking for Dorian, Jorah headed to the woods where he was supposedly chopping firewood. What with the coronation and his new duties as lord of Bear Island, he'd gotten lazy and hadn't trained for some time. The ring of swords was a sound he needed to hear and Dorian was the only one who could keep up with him.

"Dorian!" Jorah called as he strode through the wood. "Dorian?"

He stopped to listen. The familiar sounds of wood splitting rang through the trees, slicing through the silence. Otherwise the woods were deafeningly still until Dorian's voice echoed toward him. "You'll be wanting Jorah for that," he said. "I think he's out hunting, but it won't be long before he's home." Another _crack!_ _thunk_ followed.

"I was hoping I could talk with _you_ , actually," a bright voice replied.

Jorah wondered what Dorian's companion, likely Jonna, maybe Magi, depending on which girl's personality he was craving that day, was asking about. Jorah hadn't stumbled into anything he couldn't figure out in his new role as lord, but he was certain something would stump him sooner or later. He prayed it wasn't today.

Straining to hear, he halted for a moment, but a breeze rustled through the leaves and carried the voices in the other direction. When he saw Dorian through a clearing, Jorah felt his heart thud a bit harder. Lynesse was with him, her hair gently catching the breeze, her brilliant green eyes visible even at his distance. After a moment he reminded himself to breathe again. Jorah shook his head in disbelief. So beauty _could_ be truly breathtaking.

Dorian moved behind Lynesse, moving her hands about on the ax handle. "Hands like this. No, too far apart. There. Better. Now raise it up this way." He smoothly guided her arms. "Don't lock your elbows. Nice and easy, see? Just make it glide. Don't think too hard. Think of it like you're pulling the ax _through the log_ , you get me?" Dorian moved the ax again, demonstrating how her arms should be moving. "Ready? We'll do it this time." When Lynesse nodded, he guided her arms upward and helped bring the ax down. The log fell in two even halves.

"I did it!" Lynesse exclaimed, spinning in delight to face her teacher. Her laughter rang through the trees and stillness.

"Easy with the ax, m'lady," Dorian exclaimed, jumping out of her way.

"Am I interrupting?" Jorah asked, his voice darker than he intended.

"Ser Jorah," Lynesse greeted him. "Dorian is teaching me how to chop wood. I just split that one on the ground there, you see?" Dorian cleared his throat dramatically. Lynesse rolled her eyes. "Well, I did have some help."

"And what," Jorah asked Dorian, "inspired you to teach Lady Hightower how to chop wood?" He looked back to her. "You're a guest. There's no need for you to gather your own firewood. That's what he's for."

" _Thanks,_ " Dorian replied sarcastically. "And I'll have you know that she came to me looking to learn." He scowled at Jorah. "What're you after, anyway? You're home early. Need me to go catch dinner?"

Jorah returned the glare. "I was hoping for a bit of sparring but I'll leave you two to it, then."

"Oh, swordplay?" Lynesse chimed after him.

"You want to watch?" Dorian asked. "We've not had women care about us training since we were boys." He chuckled. "Now all the women here are tired of us and don't give two shits about us swinging steel." He sighed. "You think the women down south would care for a strapping northern man?"

"'Watch?'" Lynesse scoffed. "No, I want to spar."

The men turned and stared at her. "You, Lady Can't Swing an Ax? Swordplay?" Dorian raised an eyebrow. "I saw you butcher a log and nearly take your nose off in the process. I don't think so."

Lynesse nodded. "I wasn't supposed to learn. My sister Leyla had a suitor who was kind enough to teach me some basic skills when no one was around." She mimed a basic parry. "I could best Leyla, at least."

"Oh, I have to see this," Dorian chuckled.

Lynesse crossed her arms over her breast. "Give me a sword and I'll show you."

"All right. If the lady wants a sword, she shall have a sword." Jorah smiled. "Perhaps there's hope for this southern lady after all."

Lynesse seemed familiar with the sword as she stood there with the blade in her hand in the yard. A mischievous smile came to her lips. "Who wants to see what a Hightower can do?" When the men looked at each other and laughed, she pouted her lips out. "Hey. Stop it. Come on, my lord. Do me the honor." She twirled the sword. "Engage me."

"Impressive," Jorah said. "Dorian, fetch some armor."

"Aye, aye, here it is," Dorian said, tossing a leather breastplate to Lynesse.

"I don't need it," Lynesse replied cockily, tossing it back. "You cannot touch me. Besides, you're not wearing any, my lord. Maybe it's _you_ who needs it." She winked. Her newfound confidence shone through as her sorrow waned.

Jorah shook his head and laughed. "I've fought in battles and tourneys for years. I don't need it. I promise you won't hurt me, if that's what you're worried about."

The jingle of a chain rattled by. Maester Wynn paused and nodded at the trio. "Blunted practice blades, of course?"

Lynesse quickly hid her sword behind her back.

"Of course," Dorian called back. "Old fool," he muttered under his breath. "No, we're got sharpened blades for our guest. We're going to run her through just for fun." He rolled his eyes.

"Oh, be kind," Lynesse hissed back as the maester disappeared around the corner. "He's a darling man. And why didn't he say anything about me with this?"

"This isn't the south, m'lady," Jorah smiled. "Women aren't slaves to the kitchen. Women are expected to defend themselves and ride into battle if needed. I guarantee he didn't give a second thought to seeing you here."

Lynesse twirled her sword again. "Oh. Of course. I forgot. Things are very different up here." She grinned. "I like it."

"I'm glad. Besides, if anyone were to chastise you, shouldn't it be me?" Jorah grinned. "And I'd never think of it."

Waggling her eyebrows, Lynesse turned to him. "My dear Lord Mormont, you've just given me entire reign of the island, then, that's what you're saying?" She swung the sword, nearly dropped it, but recovered. "Fuck."

Jorah laughed. _Beauty and daring, but doesn't take herself too seriously. I like her more and more._ "Show me what you know. I stand ready to be amazed."

"Engage me and I will." Lynesse held her sword loosely in her hand.

Jorah lobbed a lazy swing far to the right. With lightening speed, Lynesse knocked it away. "C'mon," she groaned. " _Really._ I can't show you what I know if you don't actually try."

He swung a slow arc, this time a little closer, but to the left. Lynesse caught his blade with hers and swung it away. "Come on!" she groaned. She swung a wild blow toward him that Jorah had to jerk to defend himself against. "Fight me!" she giggled. "I'm not afraid of a bunch of bears."

"All right, all right," he nodded, slightly more comfortable with her skill.

Lynesse rained wild blows upon him, a wild look in her eye and a toothy smile. As they fell into a rhythm, Jorah threw in an offensive stroke occasionally. After a few minutes, Lynesse's chest heaved as she panted. Finally, she missed a blow and cringed as she realize she'd anticipated Jorah's blow coming from the wrong side and left her entire abdomen exposed. Jorah stumbed backward awkwardly and wrenched his arm back so his blow didn't touch her.

" _That_ is why you wear armor," he snapped. "That could have broken your ribs!" Truthfully, he was more annoyed at himself for not pushing her to wear the armor.

Lynesse pursed her lips and stared at the dirt. "I'm sorry, m'lord. You were right."

His anger quickly dissipated. Her shameful expression was a blow to the elation he'd began to feel in her company. "But I'm impressed. I could make a soldier of you yet." He touched her arm. "Are you all right? Did I go too hard on you?"

Struggling to catch her breath, Lynesse nodded. "Fine, I'm fine. If I'm going to stay here, I'd better be ready to ride into battle, aye?" She swung the sword and smiled sheepishly.

"I'd be pleased to train you myself," Jorah offered. He ignored the Dorian's sigh of exasperation and scowl. When Lynesse brightened, he felt something in his chest swell. _Gods, she is beautiful._

"I want it harder next time," Lynesse announced. "I can handle it. Faster, too. I'm not a fragile little girl. I can hold my own. Besides, I prefer it that way. Doing it slow without any effort isn't any fun at all. If you haven't broken a sweat, have you really-" Suddenly she giggled and covered her lips with her fingertips. "Oh, gods. I swear I'm not talking about fucking." Her eyes flickered to Jorah, then she paused. "Well, perhaps it applies, but _I meant_ training." Then she roared with laughter. "Gods, I've said too much!"

"Now that's the kind of woman I want on Bear Island!" Dorian laughed, pointing at her. "What a raunchy lady you are!" He clapped her on the back. "Welcome to the North."

"Aye," Jorah grinned. "Talk like that around Jory and Dacey and perhaps they'll warm to you faster." He chuckled. "They're bawdy enough to make me blush."

"All right, all right, enough talk of fucking, _Lady_ Hightower. Give me a shot at the lord," Dorian said, standing and taking the sword from her. "Have a seat and watch me put him to shame."

* * *

Lynesse cheered and jeered as Jorah and Dorian spun and swore at each other, swords ringing.

Jorah caught Dorian off guard and drove him back against a tree. "Maybe it's _you_ who needed practice."

"Fuck off," Dorian growled, giving Jorah a hard shove. He launched a fierce offense that drove Jorah backward. "I didn't get a chance to warm up with a lovely she-warrior like you did."

Jorah spun and pulled Dorian close so that he whispered in his ear, "And you never will."

"Bastard," Dorian snapped, swinging at him.

The pair parried for a few more minutes. Jorah caught Dorian at the throat, the point of his sword inches from the man's bobbing adam's apple.

"Well done, my lord!" Lynesse cheered.

He turned. She was beaming at him. _Have those freckles always been on her nose like that?_ Suddenly her smile fell away. "Jorah!"

Dorian's blade caught him across the cheek. Jorah swore and recoiled, stumbling to the ground. Colors exploded in his eye and sat up with his head in his hands. "Son of a bitch! What was that?" He touched his cheekbone. There was no blood, but it was bound to leave a hell of a bruise.

"Oh, oh!" Lynesse cried, jumping to her feet and rushing to Jorah's side. "Are you hurt? You shouldn't have looked at me!" She brushed his hand aside and gently touched his cheek.

"I couldn't help it," Jorah replied. A throbbing pain was creeping down into his teeth. "Dorian, what the fuck?"

"Sorry, mate," Dorian groaned. "You've never got distracted during a spar before. How was I supposed to know you wouldn't be able to keep your eyes off of 'er?"

"Come, there's a salve you can put on that to help with the pain," Lynesse said, standing and pulling Jorah to his feet. "Perhaps you've used it up here? If not, I can make it if Maester Wynn will let me at his supplies."

"Aye," Jorah grumbled. "That and a strong rum will help."

"I guess I win, then," Dorian called after the pair as they walked off.

No one looked up as the pair entered the hall. "What did you mean when you said you couldn't help looking at me?" Lynesse asked, looking up at Jorah, whose cheek was already beginning to swell.

"Nothing," Jorah replied quickly. "You're just so different than the other women here."

"Oh." Lynesse nodded. "I- I suppose so."

Sensing her disappointment in his answer, he figured it was worth a shot. _How long has it been since I've flirted with a woman while sober?_ He lowered his voice and leaned in. "I've never had a woman tell me how she liked to be fucked before we even got to the bed." He chuckled as her mouth fell open.

"Shh!" she hissed, looking around frantically. "I don't want the whole island hearing it. Some of the men here look like they wouldn't exactly ask politely if I was interested." She raised an eyebrow. "No offense meant."

"None taken. You're probably right. Have no fear, though. None will dare cross you as long as you're under my protection." He smiled, then immediately winced. "Damn."

"Well," she added as they continued toward the infirmary, "perhaps I'm different than the women here, but you're different than the men I've known. I've never seen a man hit his lord in the face." She grinned and gave him a gentle shove. "He got you good, m'lord."

"Lady Hightower?"

"Mmhmm?"

Jorah returned the shove and laughed. "Fuck off."


	5. Decisions

The strong coffee was just enough to brighten Jorah's morning. The aroma cheered him somewhat. He sat at his desk with the mug warming his hands as the cold morning wrapped around him. Jorah caught of glimpse of his face in the mirror and groaned. A dark purple bruise flowed from his cheekbone up to his brow on the left side. Ned would surely never let him hear the end of it.

Sleep evaded him the entire night as his face throbbed and ached. Even his teeth hurt from the accidental blow from Dorian. Maester Wynn advised letting the swelling take hold before treating it. Instead, Jorah treated himself with rum and an early bedtime.

Someone rapped at the door. "Aye," he called.

"Good morning," a cheerful voice came. Lynesse floated in, a vision in a golden gown. Her hair was pulled up in intricate braids and she looked more rested than she had since the shipwreck.

Jorah sat up straighter at his table. "Lynesse. It's quite early. I didn't expect anyone else to be awake at this hour. Would you like a coffee?"

"No, thank you. I've actually brought you something." She held up two jars of colored salve. "Maester Wynn had never heard of these _potions,_ as he called them, but said I could use whatever I liked from the apothecary. How's your cheek?"

He turned. "I barely slept all night with the throbbing."

Lynesse grimaced. "Oh, that must smart," she cooed. "I'm so sorry. I feel responsible." She waltzed over, light as air, and set the jars down before him. "The dark green is for evenings. It will help numb things so you can sleep. I've used it on everything from broken bones to burns. The red, though, you could use now. It helps blood flow and healing _and_ it's soothing, too."

Jorah nodded. "I had no idea you were skilled in healing."

She opened the jar of red. "With so many siblings, someone had to learn how to care for illnesses and injuries. Someone was always bleeding or getting sick." Lynesse scooped some of the salve onto her fingertips. It sparkled like a ruby. "Here. May I?"

Jorah exhaled in relief as Lynesse gently massaged the cooling balm onto his cheek. "Thank you," he said softly. He let his eyes close and tried to relax his facial muscles. A cold blast sank into his skin and woke him up more than any coffee ever could. "Gods, I've survived lacerations and blows from battle but this hurts like a bitch."

"I'm not surprised. I think you've fractured the bone," she replied. "Tell me when it hurts." She applied pressure to the eye socket to no response, but when she pressed on the cheekbone, he winced and jumped. "There it is," Lynesse frowned. "I'm sorry. It will heal by itself. These will help the ache."

"How long will it take to heal?"

Lynesse lathered more salve onto her fingertips and continued her work, massaging his forehead, temple, jaw. "I don't dare tell you how long, m'lord."

"I'm not your lord," Jorah replied. "Just Jorah, please. And I shouldn't mind a long healing if this is my treatment." He held his breath in anticipation of her response.

Lynesse beamed. "It looks as if I've found a way to make myself useful here. Maester Wynn mentioned needing a little help. Just don't go getting yourself injured for my attention. I promise I'll give it freely." With a demure smile, she turned and lidded the jar.

Jorah's hand trailed down her arm. "Oh? I'm pleased to know yours is the face I'll see should I befall some injury, but I'm disappointed I won't have you as a soldier. I was quite looking forward to training you."

"Oh, please, I'd still love to learn." She set the jars together on the bedside table and looked to him hopefully. "Today?"

"I'll be out with Ned today, visiting properties and meeting with families. I doubt we'll be back until late."

She was crestfallen. "Oh. Of course. I forget a lord has duties to his people." She bit her lip. "It's much easier being a lady if you don't have any people. My days are quite free."

"Catlyn is staying here, I believe. I'm certain she'll be wanting your company." He finished his coffee and stood. The pain in his cheek had already diminished somewhat. "There's also a merchant who arrived late last night from Essos. Who sent him this far north, I have no idea. Should anything catch your fancy, it's yours. Tell him I'll settle with him when I return."

"My lord-"

" _Jorah."_

"Jorah," Lynesse repeated. "I couldn't. Everything I have is from you. It's more than enough that Jory gave me the gowns I have. I'm only just now finding a way to repay-"

"You need not repay anything. It is my honor to have your company. I'll see you treated like the goddess you are." He took her hand and kissed it. "You've been through trauma most people never see. Allow me this minor courtesy, m'lady."

"I thought we had no titles between us?" Lynesse stepped closer. "If you're Jorah, then I'm Lynesse." Her eyes flicked between his eyes and his lips.

"No titles," Jorah agreed. Her hands came to rest on his chest as his arms settled at the small of her back. The numbness of his face should have been a deterrent, but Jorah studied her lips. They were thin and pink and he'd never wanted to kiss a woman as much as he wanted to kiss Lynesse Hightower.

"Are you ready yet?" Ned's voice came just before the door swung open.

Lynesse pulled away from Jorah. "Hello, Lord Stark," she frantically greeted him. "I was just leaving, actually."

"Forgive me," Ned chuckled. "I should have knocked. Carry on."

"No, no," Lynesse stuttered. "I- I'll be off to find Cat. Do come see me tonight before you retire, Jorah? The green salve is a bit different." Her skirts swished out after her as she hurried from the room.

Ned grinned wolfishly and clapped Jorah on the shoulder. "Well done, Mormont. You look like shit, but well done."

* * *

A black and green gown with exposed shoulders and a corset bodice sparkled in the chilly morning air.  
"That is beautiful," Cat nodded. "You should get it. Mormont colors." She winked.

"I love it, but I couldn't," Lynesse sighed, clutching the gown to her breast. "Jorah said to get something, but I haven't any coin of my own."

Lynesse and Cat were in yard where the Essos merchant sat up his wares. No one else bothered to stop and look at the intricate décor and gowns; such things were worthless to the hard folk of Bear Island.

"He said to get something, anyway," Cat argued. "He must fancy you quite a bit. Get it. He'd be so pleased." She moved to the next trunk and examined exotic furs. "What is this? I've never seen a wolf spotted as such."

"It's not a wolf, my lady," the merchant said in a thick accent. "Across the Narrow Sea we have beautiful spotted cats as large as lions. They fast and climb trees! They drag an entire deer up to high branches to feast. Man does not harm these animals. This one killed by rival cat."

The spotted fur over her shoulders made her look fierce. "Beautiful. I'll take this, I think." She turned to Lynesse. "As a lady, there's a certain regal aspect you're expected to uphold, even here in the north. Buy that gown."

"Who says I'm going to be a lady of the north?" Lynesse asked. "There might yet be a place for me with the Tyrells."

"Yet they stole everything from your house without so much as a letter," Cat spat. "Here you are, a lady of an ancient house, lamenting because she cannot afford her own gown." She raised an eyebrow. "I think you were quite lucky to drift here to Lord Jorah. I've known him for some time through Ned. My husband thinks so highly of him, and I've always found him to be a kind man. He'd be a good husband. A woman alone in this world does not survive. You need him."

"I know, I know" Lynesse turned the dress over in her hands. "I'll take this, then, good merchant."

"Yes, yes, the yellow-haired woman is to take anything she like, the bear lord tells me." The merchant smiled. "And he set aside something for the lady." The merchant pulled out a large black fur with even darker black spots on it, similar to Cat's. "For your bed, to sleep. Is so cold, but this is warm. From the bear lord. Also I have white, if you prefer."

"For me?" Lynesse repeated. She looked at Cat, who had suddenly taken an envious scowl. "Good Mother, that must cost a fortune," she exclaimed. "If that's not your sign that he fancies you, I don't know what could be."

Lynesse took the fur, large enough to cover her bed, and held it against her face. "I've never had a fur!" The silky softness was luxurious and she immediately wished Jorah was there to throw her arms around.

"For the lady, for the lady," the merchant smiled. "What else? Come, come, you are visiting and have bare room, he say. You need things, he say. Come, see this candleabra, this tapestry of wonders, these slippers. The bear lord tell me to give you everything."

* * *

It began to snow on the ride back to the longhouse. The dancing white flakes illuminated the darkness somewhat. It didn't matter; the horses knew the way.

Ned sighed happily. "You've got a good thing going, Mormont. Your people are happy, fed, occupied, and love you. Well done. If only I could bring the _whole_ north together as well as you've done up here."

"To be fair," Jorah replied, "I've only picked up what my father left behind." Though it was true; he was well-liked, well-respected, and won their favor even after his father took the black. "The Lewards and Krayhills would see me marry one of their daughters."

Ned straightened in the saddle. "We'll be leaving in a few days, but I suspect we'll have to travel back up here shortly for a wedding, then?"

"It's not what I'd prefer, but if you'd see me wed, I'll wed. Would you not rather I take a mainlander bride?" Jorah tried not to pull a scowl. Disrespect wasn't handled well by the Starks, plus; it hurt his swollen face. Marriage was not his favorite subject, however. His first marriage, ten years prior, had been arranged by his lord father and ended when the poor Glover woman died in childbirth. They had no love for each other, lived apart, but fulfilled their duty and tried to produce a Mormont heir and she died because of it.

"I may be your lord but I don't mean to marry you off to some lesser house. A Leward or Krayhill girl is not fit to marry a lord." Ned shook his head. "I mean Lynesse Hightower, you fool."

Jorah looked to him in surprise. "You'd see me marry Lynesse?"

"Aye, she's beautiful and you two seem compatible." Ned grinned. "The Hightowers are an old house. Noble. Marry her. We can appeal to Robert about regaining her wealth back from the Tyrells."

"The Tyrells are a Lannister house," Jorah said suspiciously. "You truly think Robert would work against his wife's father? The Hightower riches are as good as lost forever. I've had enough war to last me a good long while. Let them keep the gold."

Ned nodded. "As you wish. Then marry her because you fancy her. The girl needs a home. She needs family." Ned grinned. "Shall I order it of you?"

"No," Jorah replied hastily. "She needs more time. It's only been a few weeks since the shipwreck. Let it happen naturally." He looked to Ned curiously. "Has Cat said anything of Lynesse? They spend a lot of time together."

"I don't think she'd turn your offer down, if that's what you're asking." Ned winked. "I'll see you wed in two months' time. That's my order."

* * *

Lynesse twirled in the mirror. Her new gown sparkled and clung to her as if it was cut just for her. "It's beautiful. Would you believe I've never had anything from across the Narrow Sea?" She looked guiltily at the large painted chest at the foot of her bed. A stained glass lantern glowed atop it and Lynesse again wondered if Ser Jorah would be angry she'd accepted them from the merchant. "And now I have _several_ things."

Cat nodded. "He'll be ever so thrilled to have bought that for you. Especially the gown." She smiled wickedly. "I'm sure he'll be even more thrilled to see it on the floor beside his bed."

"Gods, isn't he handsome, though?" Lynesse giggled. "I hate to think I've only taken a fancy for him because he was the first face I saw when I was pulled from the boat. He _is_ handsome, isn't he?"

"You've taken a fancy for him because he's a good man and a smart match." Cat raised an eyebrow. "Let me tell you: this is a blessing for you after your awful wreck. Ser Jorah is loyal to House Stark and not involved in the horrid politics of the south. Sorry," she added hastily when the blonde made a face. "Plus, he bought you a fur for your bed. That's quite an intimate gift. It seems to me his intentions are quite clear."

"I suppose so." Lynesse shimmied. "Shall I try him out this evening?" She felt wicked as Cat laughed along with her. Of course Lynesse used to talk of sex and handsome men with her sisters, but she could never act on them with her father keeping close tabs on his heirs. Now that she was free to make her own choices, however, she wondered whether she truly _could_ bring herself to sleep with the lord out of sheer desire.

Cat stroked the fur. "You know once you give these men a taste, they'll be hooked." She smiled. "I've been trying to give Ned another heir. Perhaps this will be a good evening for both of us."

Cat retired to her own room for the evening to wait for Ned. Three heavy knocks at her door made Lynesse's heart race twenty minutes later. She straightened her dress and gave her hair one last glance in the mirror before slowly opened the door. "Hello," she said softly, drinking in the sight of the man before her. He donned all black and had stripped off his cloak and swordbelt. She'd never noticed how long Jorah's legs were, or his neck, for that matter. His heavy leather boots were half unlaced and she wondered if he meant to take them off.

"You," Jorah trailed off, his jaw hanging agape, "you look ravishing."

She brushed hair back from her face. "Well, this gown is from you. I hope you like it." She spun about. The skirts twirled out around her with a soft _whoosh_ before falling back to place.

"Like it?" Jorah replied. "I love it." He stared at her for a moment longer before clearing his throat and giving his head the slightest shake. "Did- did you like the fur?"

"Yes!" she nodded eagerly. She gestured into her room, where the fur covered the bed. "Come in, look at it. It's _beautiful_. I cannot thank you enough. The trunk and the lantern are from the merchant, as well. I hope it's not too much. I intend to work with Maester Wynn to earn my-"

"You have to earn nothing. They're excellent. I'm glad you're brightening this room. It's rather drab otherwise." Jorah looked about the room and noted the purchases. "The next time I travel to Winterfell you should come with me. They have fine gown makers there who use the heavier materials that will keep you arm." He eyed her bare shoulders. "Though I must say I quite enjoy this look, as well."

"I'd enjoy that." Lynesse noted the bruising on Jorah's face. It had spread; brilliant greens feathered out from the initial purple, which had turned a brilliant violet. "How did the salve work?"

"Incredibly well," Jorah answered, pulling the jar of green ointment from a pocket. "You said to return this evening with this for my next treatment, as it were." He sat on the mattress as Lynesse nodded and took the jar from him.

"Of will feel different than the red. It will numb everything, down to the bone." Lynesse took a small amount of the ointment onto her hand and settled next to Jorah on the bed. "How was your ride with Lord Stark?"

"Pleasant. The islanders are happy and Ned's happy with me. Our fathers didn't get along half as well so I couldn't be happier." He chuckled. "Things are going _too_ well, if you ask me. Give it a month and perhaps Dorian will overthrow me."

"Ah, so this blow was the first in his series of rebellions?" Lynesse laughed. "How bold of him."

"As long as he left you for me, he can have the island."

She tried not to look into Jorah's eyes as she continued to massage the salve in. "You should get much better rest tonight." Her palm brushed against the whiskers on his cheek and she smiled. When she broke and looked into his eyes, she realized he was already gazing at her. He brought his hand to her cheek and she felt as if she could melt at his touch. Licking her lips nervously, she realized her hand had stopped moving on his face.

Suddenly her lips were on his. Without consciously thinking to do so, Lynesse moved closer to Jorah, then squealed in delight as he easily lifted her onto his lap. The jar clattered to the floor. No one moved to retrieve it, even as its contents spilled out.

An electric sensation exploded forth from her core and sent tingles through her arms and breasts. Goosebumps spread over her bare shoulders. Jorah's chest was hard as stone beneath her fingers, which had taken a mind of their own as they trailed down his body. She _hmm_ ed happily as Jorah looped his hands in her hair. Suddenly her hips were swiveling against his and the groan that issued from his throat made the tingles roll over her skin once more.

Someone rapped at the door. "Lady Hightower?"

Lynesse ignored it. "They'll leave," she murmured into Jorah's lips.

"Lady Hightower, are you abed already? Come, we're taking you to the pub." The door swung open and Jory and Dacey entered unabashedly.

"Does _no one_ around here have any semblance of manners?" Jorah growled at the women. "Get out."

"Fancy seeing you here." Jory sighed. "We were going out with some of our friends and thought Lady Hightower may want more female company."

"I- that would be nice, thank you," Lynesse answered sheepishly, still straddling Jorah on the bed.

"Then quit fucking my cousin and let's _go_ ," Dacey said, rolling her eyes and glaring at Jory. "This was your idea, now you know how pissy he's going to be for the rest of the week?"

Jorah simply scowled at his cousins as Lynesse slid back to the floor and adjusted her hair. She looked in a mirror and adjusted her skirts. "Just give me a moment to finish treating his eye? I'll be right there."

Jory nudged Dacey. "I'll have you know Mormonts aren't known for being speedy lovers, if that's what you're getting at," she grinned. "Either you're going out with us or staying in with him. We don't care what you choose-"

"I was really about to retire." Lynesse smiled to Jorah. "Right?"

"Of course," he nodded.

After hastily applying salve from what was left in the jar, Lynesse kissed Jorah on the opposite cheek. "Good night, my lord."

"Good morrow, my lady."


	6. Wine

A raven from Winterfell carrying word of the Stark children falling ill cut the Stark visit short. The next morning, Cat embraced Lynesse in the yard. "You seem an entirely different woman than the girl pulled from the sea the day we arrived. I'm glad for that. Do write. I'd hate to lose touch with you. I hate to leave so soon, but my children need their mother."

Lynesse smiled. "Of course they do. And write? We'll do one better. Jorah promised to bring me along to Winterfell soon. I must see more of the north."

Ned chuckled. "This is as north as you can get without hitting the wall. I'm afraid if you're looking for icicles and snow, you should just stay here." He kissed her hand. "You're in good hands, Lady Hightower. I'm pleased to have met you."

Cat nudged Ned and winked at Jorah. "I'm glad to have another outsider here to commiserate with about you northern lords."

"I haven't a single complaint," Lynesse replied. "I can't. He saved my life and is giving me room and board. I prefer these northern lords to any of the southern ones I've known." The smile Jorah gave her made her heart skip a beat.

"Farewell," Ned nodded to Jorah. "You're a good lord and a good friend. Winter is coming." With that, the Starks turned and passed through the large wooden door.

"I'm sad to see them go," Lynesse sighed as the couple passed beyond sight. She absent-mindedly draped her arm through Jorah's.

"Dorian's off fishing for a few days." Jorah chewed at the inside of his lip. "It will be quiet here. I'm afraid aside from my cousins, the other women our age are all consumed with motherhood."

Lynesse nodded. "Hmm."

"Come, I want to show you something." Jorah led her back toward the longhouse. "Promise you won't grow tired of Bear Island," he smiled sadly. "Now that you'll see things for how they truly are."

"Of course not," she scoffed. "Not while you're here. You're endlessly interesting."

"And are my cousins as interesting, I wonder?" He grinned. "How was your night with them?"

"Dacey hates me _less_ , I think. And Jory said to stop by her chambers if I ever seek feminine affection."

Jorah snorted. "Well, that wouldn't be the first time she stole a woman from me."

"No?" Lynesse gasped, trying not to laugh. "Truly?"

"She was a maid my father hired. I thought she was happy to warm my bed, but I came home from a hunting trip and found her in bed with that damn vixen cousin of mine."

"That's horrible," Lynesse giggled.

Jorah shook his head solemnly. "And they were in _my_ bed."

Lynesse snorted.

"Here," Jorah announced as they paused in front of a door Lynesse had never paid heed to. "The bear's den, they call it." He pushed the door open and entered the small room. "You're welcome to it. It may help combat boredom."

Shelves of books lined all four walls. Old, worn volumes stood next to brand new books. Lynesse _ooh_ ed. "Have you read all of these?"

"Not yet." Jorah cleared a few papers off of the writing desk at the middle of the room. "None but the lord are privvy to this room, but please, help yourself. Truly, less than half of the islanders know how to read and write, anyway."

"That's a pity. Perhaps I'll teach someone to read."

Jorah raised an eyebrow. "You're making an awful lot of plans for a lady who only asked to stay while she figures out her next step."

Lynesse stroked the spine of a book and pulled it off the shelf. "Are you trying to get rid of me?"

"That's the last thing I want," Jorah answered, leaning suavely against the shelf beside her. "Like last night, for example." His voice melted into silky, lazy drawl. "Hated to see you go."

Lynesse sucked in a breath. "Well, there's no one looking for me now. What was it you wanted my company for, again?" She wrinkled her nose and laughed. "Why, I hardly remember what we were doing."

"I'll show you," Jorah purred, picking her up and gently pressing her back against a book case.

Several books tumbled to the floor. Lynesse wrapped her legs around Jorah's waist. "Oh, yes, m'lord," she murmured into his lips.

"I'll be your lord if you insist," he growled in her ear. Jorah tugged at her gown and purred when her breasts spilled out. He took his time swiveling his tongue over her nipples.

Lynesse let her head softly _thud_ against the shelf behind her. She felt him hard against her thigh and swore her mouth started to water. " _This_ is what I missed last night?" she panted between soft moans. " _Fuck._ " Trusting that he could support her weight, Lynesse pressed her hand between them and caressed his bulge.

Jorah ground against her hand and moaned as he kissed her bare neck. "Are you certain this is what you-"

Chatter from the hallway caught their attention. The door stood wide open.

"Damn it all," Jorah growled as he let Lynesse back to her feet and she hastily righted her dress. He stepped toward the door to close it, but a teenaged girl saw him and smiled. "My lord," she beamed. "You look quite well this morning. We heard that Dorian bested you in a brawl. Your face looks much better than they were saying."

"He didn't best me," Jorah scoffed. "He cheated. And it wasn't a brawl. It was sparring."

"Nonetheless, you're still as handsome as ever." She bounced back on her heels and pushed her arms forward so that her cleavage would seem more impressive.

A book teetering on the edge of the shelf toppled and Lynesse dove for it, but was too late. It landed with a _clap._

The girl peered further into the room. "O-oh. I didn't know the southern lady was in there. Forgive me." She frowned, then pasted on another smile. "My father was hoping for a word sometime soon regarding his offer." Her eyelashes batted rapidly. "I've eagerly been awaiting your word, as well."

Jorah leaned against the door frame. "I'm afraid your father will be disappointed, Gemma. Tell him I've had other orders from Lord Stark regarding marriage."

Gemma's face fell. "Oh."

Lynesse felt the girl's surprise and disappointment. _Marriage?!_ Her stomach was suddenly in her throat.

Jorah offered the girl a kind smile. "I'll discuss other offers with your father soon. You'll let him know?"

"Yes, my lord." Gemma bowed hastily and went on her way, head hanging low.

Jorah let the door shut gently behind her, then he locked violently _._ "A child wanting to marry me." He grimaced and rubbed his face in anguish. "I could nearly be her father. Whoever's talked her into this-"

Lynesse interrupted. "You – you're to wed?" She failed to disguise her anger.

"Perhaps," Jorah replied. "Ned hasn't pushed the matter. He said he'd like to see me wed to a mainlander of a certain nobility." A smile came to his face and it made Lynesse's stomach churn.

"And did he say who?" she snapped. "Or will anyone do? I thought northern lords were different. Cat said how noble and _fair_ things here were!" She snatched her book from the floor and held it before her like a shield.

"Lynesse," Jorah said softly. "You have nothing to worry about. Ned actually -" He moved to touch her waist, but she sidestepped him. He stared after her.

"I don't know why I should be worried. You're right. I'm just staying here until I decide my next move." She unlocked the door. "Thank you for showing me this place. I'm certain I'll see you in the hall for dinner. Good morrow."

The door slammed shut behind her and Jorah stared at it, trying to digest what happened. "Lynesse," he called down the hall after her. "Lynesse!"

* * *

"Lady Jory, are you in there? Jory, hello?" She pushed the door open without waiting for an answer. Inside, Jory and Dacey were playing chess. "Are you busy?" Lynesse headed for the wine and poured a chalice full. "I need a drink. I thought you might be good for it."

"What's got you in a tizzy?" Jory asked. "It's barely luncheon. Wine already?"

"Aye," Dacey agreed. "You're usually so ladylike."

"Your _lord_ is, is, - _ugh!_ " Lynesse _clinked_ her chalice down and wine sloshed over the side. "I cannot _stand_ him."

Dacey rolled her eyes at her sister. "Now what's our dear cousin done?"

Jory chimed in. "Wait, wait, wait. Let me guess. He's off on some hunting trip and leaving you here."

"Scolded you for not knowing shit?" Dacey suggested.

Jory shook her head. "Didn't warn you not to go in the woods alone at night. Yeah, that's definitely on him. It's called Bear Island for a reason," Jory nodded sympathetically.

"Just let me speak!" Lynesse snapped.

The Mormonts sat back.

Lynesse took a breath and then found herself ranting, not even thinking of the words as they flowed from her. "He's supposed to marry. He just told some little girl that Lord Stark wants him to wed someone from the mainland. And here he is, sweeping me off my feet and buying me gowns and- _ugh!"_ " Lynesse _tsk_ ed and finished her wine. Purple droplets ran down her chin. Whether speaking so candidly to the Mormont women was wise, Lynesse didn't care. She desperately longed for Cat's companionship, or better yet, her sisters'. They'd know what to do. She poured more wine. "I thought assisting in the infirmary with Maester Wynn and learning how to fight would show him that I want to stay here." She took a long drink. "Does he always use ladies for sex with no further intentions?"

Jory shook her head. "Easy, easy. It's probably just something he said to let the girl down easy. After his first wife died, he's not been too eager to take another woman. He's turned down many an offer from lords higher than our house deserves. I don't see why he should suddenly wed now."

"Another one trying to get pregnant or become the Lady Mormont, eh?" Dacey drawled. "These girls are such fools. They're painfully obvious, every one of them." She moved a piece on the chess board. "I never thought as much of you, if it makes you feel any solace."

"Thank you," Lynesse sighed. "But why-"

"You grew up with the lords and ladies, Lynesse," Jory said tartly. "You know better than to ask questions. Just drink."

* * *

Jorah was lathering the salve onto his bruised face before bed when someone pounded on his door. He considered putting a shirt on, but decided he couldn't be bothered.

"What's this?" He exclaimed as Dacey and Jory barged in, Lynesse between them giggling drunkenly. She was mumbling something and hanging on her companions to remain upright.

"Someone needs to watch her," Jory sang out.

"And it isn't us," Dacey added. "We've been with her since midday." She nudged Lynesse in the ribs. "Oy, there's that bastard, now! Give 'im a piece of your mind."

Lynesse blinked a few times, obviously unseeing. "I don't think my room is in here."

Jorah shook his head in confusion at Dacey as Jory guided Lynesse to the bed and helped her sit. "You got her drunk?"

"She got _herself_ drunk," Dacey replied.

Lynesse leaned over the side of the bed and retched onto the floor.

"Good night!" Jory sang out. Dacey cackled and followed behind her, swinging the door shut.

Sighing, Jorah stepped over the vomit. Lynesse was sweating and coughing, spitting purple drool onto the floor. He swept the hair back from her face. "You'll feel better once it's out."

She choked and another round of vomit spewed onto the floor. "Oh, get away," she moaned. "I'm _mad_ at you."

"And getting yourself sick was the best way to get back at me, is that it?" He rubbed her back as she gagged again. He cringed. "Next time you can just come talk to me, perhaps?"

" _Don't you laugh at me!"_ she snapped. "I'm angry with you. You're keeping me here for sex." Her words were a slurred mumble. "Have me and be done stringing me along like all the others." She stumbled to her feet, stepped through her own vomit, and reached to pull her gown over her head.

"No, no, no." Jorah pulled her skirt back down. "Why don't you just sleep, hmm?" He placed his hand on her back and tried to guide her back to the bed.

She thrashed away. Her foot caught in her skirt and she tumbled to the floor. " _Go away!_ I don't know what to do now. I was going to marry you. Now I have no home." Big tears welled up and spilled down her face. "I'm leaving." She collapsed onto the floor and heaved a sigh.

Jorah knelt beside her. Though her drunkenness amplified her emotions, they left Jorah feeling like he'd been punched in the stomach. Her sorrow on his account made him feel physically ill. "Lynesse. Do you want to stay here with me?"

"I _did_ ," she muttered into her arm. Her eyes batted shut and her body fell limp. "Sleep."

Jorah lifted her back onto the bed. Steady snores accompanied him as he cleaned the floor and attempted to clean her up. Certain she'd be sleeping soundly when he returned, Jorah laced up his boots and strode down to the den.

In the dim candlelight, he scratched a letter onto a scrap of parchment.

 _Ned._

 _You're right. I'll marry Lynesse Hightower in two months time._


	7. Begging

"There she is! Apparently she lives." Dorian nudged Jorah and nodded across the hall to Lynesse, who was trying very hard to disappear in the rows of tables. She wore a rough brown shift and a grey cloak. Her shining hair, though, gave her away like a beacon in the night.

Jorah hadn't seen her since the evening before when his cousins delivered her, blackout drunk, to his chambers. He left her a note as she slept off her wine and left to sleep in the den. He leaned on his hand and watched her chat with islanders. "Shall I call her over?"

He'd told Dorian everything; their flirtations, what Ned said in regards to marrying her; how he was already in love with Lynesse Hightower. Dorian's response had merely been that Jorah would of course take the lord's portion of their shipwrecked ladies and that he'd like the next one.

Dorian shook his head. "No, are you mad? She won't remember last night, but she'll remember being pissed that she thinks you're marrying someone else. Gods, you should have nipped that in the bud. That's been stewing for a day and now she'll be out for blood."

Jorah sat back. "I suppose you're right." What he'd told the young girl asking after his hand in marriage hadn't been a lie; Ned Stark _did_ encourage him to wed soon. What Lynesse never heard was that Jorah was more or less ordered to marry her.

"She'll want to either forgive you or rake you across the coals sooner or later." Dorian noisily slurped stew from his bowl. "But it looks like that'll be sooner." He waggled his eyebrows as Lynesse sheepishly approached their table.

"My lord," she muttered, curtseying. "Thank you for taking care of me last night. I- I hear I made an utter ass of myself and I hope to apologize."

Jorah couldn't help but grin. "You don't recall seeing me?"

"I'm afraid not." Lynesse quickly curtseyed to Dorian. "Good evening, Dorian, my apologies. I've forgotten my manners."

"And a good evening to the beautiful lady. I'll have you know if you're looking for late night accommodations, my chambers are always available." He winked.

Lynesse smiled politely. "I hope you won't be offended. Lady Jory and Lady Dacey took me to the lord's room." After a moment, she took a deep breath and looked back to Jorah. "Was I trouble?" Her gaze dropped to the table and remained there.

Jorah leaned forward, hoping to catch her eye. "Not at all. I'd be happy to assist you any time."

"You said you were cleaning up sick! That sounds like trouble to me." Dorian scoffed. He raised an eyebrow at Lynesse. "A little less wine next time, my lady. No worries. We've been there before."

Lynesse covered her face with her hand. "Oh, gods."

" _Dorian_ ," Jorah growled. "Enough."

"My lord, I'm so-" Lynesse trailed off and covered her face again. "I'm humiliated."

"Think nothing of it," Jorah cut her off. "I'm happy to have been able to repay the favor." He motioned to his face. "The salves you made have been a godsend."

Lynesse fidgeted with her skirts. "Well, I just wanted to thank you for your kindness." She curtseyed once again and turned to leave.

"Your coldness breaks my heart, my lady," Jorah smiled sadly. "Spend the evening with me. I'd love your company."

"Perhaps not," Lynesse said, full of ladylike dignity. "I'd hate to cause you trouble, or your future wife heartache. If anyone said anything of seeing me with you, my reputation would be ruined. _Didn't you hear? Lynesse Hightower was with Ser Jorah last night,"_ she mocked. " _Do you think he has a child on her? Unfaithful already!_ " The firelight cast a warm glow on her, but it didn't brighten her sad expression. "I'd hate for my own potential suitors to think I'm just a House Mormont plaything."

Jorah sat back and casually draped an arm over Dorian's chair. _Now's the time!,_ he thought. Nerves roiled up in his gut as if he were about to address his men or race into battle. "That won't be a concern, I assure you."

Several islanders looked up from their dinner in mild interest. The conversation wasn't as entertaining as a brawl, but it would do.

Lynesse lowered her voice. "I apologize, my lord. I cannot jeopardize my future and my-"

"Your future is here with me, if you want it." Jorah smiled suavely. "Marry me."

"What?" Her eyes were wide and her hand rested at the base of her neck as if she were checking her pulse. " _What?"_

"Marry me." He shrugged. "I had meant to propose on the morrow in a more meaningful way, but I can't bear that frown on your face." He easily hurdled the table and took her hand. "I love you. All I want is to have you by my side. Lady of Bear Island. The title and my heart are yours if you only say yes." His heart pounded and he watched the microexpressions change on Lynesse's face. "So say yes."

She settled on poised indifference. "If you do that, you won't have _any_ bargaining power, my lord. You have no sons, only your cousins, and they certainly won't agree to being married off." She was speaking so quickly she could barely understand herself. "I can't let you do that. What if some house is looking for a lord to marry a daughter? What if, if the Starks have more daughters?" She gasped again. "You could be throwing away your chance of having your children rule Winterfell and the North! If you married me, well, this is all it would be. You have nothing to gain from marrying me," she said softly. "I'm from a ruined house. The Tyrells have absorbed all of my bannermen and gold. I have nothing to offer you."

"Lynesse," Jorah smiled. "Is that a no?"

"I can't marry you!" She exclaimed.

Jorah glanced at the tables on either side of them. Islanders gawked, their mouths hanging open. A few women whispered behind their hands. Fathers aiming to wed their daughters to the lord smiled. Jorah's pride took a hit, but he was more concerned about his heart.

Lynesse took note of their audience, too. "That would be political suicide, my lord. I cannot doom you to my house's ruin." She curtseyed. "Please, there are more suitable matches for you."

"I don't care," Jorah took her hand. "Politics be damned. Marry me because I love you, Lynesse. I know you love me. You wouldn't be saying no if you didn't love me. Marry me." He held her chin between his thumb and index finger. "I'll ask until you say yes. Marry me," he mumbled against her lips.

She settled against him. "Jorah," she whispered. "I do love you. But think about-"

"You love me!" He exclaimed. "Then marry me, you stubborn southern lady! We northerners are proud, but I will beg you in front of my people."

Young Gemma thudded her chalice against the table. "If you don't marry him, I will!"

The islanders chuckled and several women called out in agreement.

Laughing, Jorah dropped to a knee. "Marry me, my lady."

"You're a fool," Lynesse cracked at last. She pulled him to his feet and threw her arms around his neck. "Aye, I'll marry you."


	8. The Weirwood Tree

Lynesse stared in the mirror at herself. The shimmering white gown had arrived only the day before with the Starks and their entourage. It fit like a dream. Her house sigil was embroidered beautifully into a silver cloak, trimmer with fur, draped over her shoulders. Soon, she thought, it would no longer be hers. Hers would be a bear and green and black her colors. What was best, she thought, was the fact that she wasn't being sold. No one had bargained for or discussed terms of her marriage. She wasn't being given away by her father or her house, and House Mormont really had nothing to gain from her. _She_ was asked and _she_ agreed. Jorah and her. None else. No motives, nothing for anyone to gain except for them. Only love.

She nodded to her reflection. _Well done, Lynesse._

Leather gloves finished her bridal look; as they did for every occasion and outing on Bear Island. Aside from her yellow hair, which no one in the north seemed to have, she looked the part of a northerner.

Turning from the mirror, she looked to Jory, Dacey, and Cat. "Do I look-"

"You won't," Jory interrupted. "It's just a wedding. They happen all the time."

Dacey studied Lynesse. "You look worried. Jorah is a fierce warrior and a good man. He'll give you strong children. What is there to worry about? You've lasted on the island far longer than anyone thought." She nodded. "Hopefully Jeor sees as much. He's a hard man."

"Jorah's father?" Lynesse breathed. "I didn't think he could leave his post at the Wall." Her stomach lurched. There it was; the older, more experienced lord to scrutinize her. She swallowed.

"Now he's the Lord Commander Mormont." Jory pulled a face. "Aye, he's here. Saw him this morning. He's the one performing the ceremony, didn't you know? That's how things are done in the north."

Cat fussed with one of Lynesse's curls. "I've met the man. He's hard, but kind. Don't worry a thing about it. And northern weddings are so brief it'll be over before you know."

Lynesse nodded, then bit her lip. "What if I-"

"You won't!" Jory snapped again.

Sighing at the woman's disinterest, Lynesse brushed her hair to keep her hands from trembling. "Do I look presentable?" she asked, making sure to choose a word the Mormont women would agree with. _Beautiful_ was worthless on Bear Island to all but its lord.

She scoffed. "Every day you're the most finely-groomed woman on this island. Today is no exception."

Cat plucked a rose from a vase. As she tucked it into Lynesse's hair, she smiled. "He will find you impossible to look away from. You are a beauty, Lynesse Hightower." She smiled and took Lynesse's hand. "It's time."

* * *

Starlight shone above as Jory and Dacey escorted Lynesse down the long aisle, lit by lantern light. Familiar faces watched as she processed by. Lynesse smiled to the Starks and Dorian, and nodded to the islanders she knew well.

Jorah held his breath in wonder. Lynesse looked radiant, even in the darkness. He could feel his father's eyes on him, and the weirwood tree's, too; its face kind and serene. He willed himself to remain somber, but beamed at Lynesse as she smiled back at him.

"Who comes before the Old Gods?" Jeor Mormont boomed.

"Lynesse of House Hightower," Jory answered, giving Lynesse's hand a slight squeeze. "She comes to marry our lord cousin. A woman grown, trueborn and noble. She begs the blessing of the Gods."

The bride stood still, staring at none but Jorah. He spared a glance to the islanders in attendance, but immediately looked back to Lynesse. She relaxed under his gaze. That warmed him, even as he could see his breath in the cold wood.

"And who claims her?" Dacey added, offering Jorah a rare smile.

Jorah stepped forward. "Ser Jorah of House Mormont, Lord of Bear Island. Who gives her?"

"Jory, of House Mormont, in lieu of her late father, Lord Leyton Hightower."

Jeor looked down his nose and studied Lynesse for a moment. Finally, he spoke. "Lady Lynesse, do you take this man, my son?"

"Aye," Lynesse breathed. "I do take this man."

The islanders whooped as Jorah took Lynesse's hands and kissed her passionately. Weddings in the north were brief, indeed, and he'd never been so glad for it.

"A feast!" Dorian called. "For Lord and Lady Mormont!"

The islanders cheered louder and moved back toward the longhouse, where the smell of meats and pastries wafted about.

When Jorah and Lynesse finally pulled apart, Jeor cleared his throat. "This is your wife, then. I would have arrived earlier to meet her, but I was detained."

Jorah nodded once and tried to conceal his pride. "Aye, Father. This is Lynesse." He wondered what the old bear would say. Jorah's own mother had died when he was a baby; he couldn't remember a thing about her and his father refused to entertain the topic. Whether she was beautiful and young like Lynesse or an old hag like Maege was a complete mystery.

He noticed Lynesse take a step back, clearly uncomfortable at his father's gaze. Jorah wrapped his arm around her waist for good measure. When she melted into his side, he smiled.

"You washed up on Bear Island and my son decided to marry you," Jeor commented.

Lynesse nodded. "He saved my life. My boat was sinking. He pulled me from the freezing water and I truly owe him my life, my lord."

"I'm not _your_ lord," he replied. "So that's why you married him." The old man nodded thoughtfully. Out of the woods flew a large black raven that landed on his shoulder and cocked its head from side to side at her.

Lynesse gasped, but Jeor reached into his pocket and drew out a few kernels of corn. "This beast is mine," he said before she could shoo it away. The raven hopped back and forth on his shoulder. " _Mine! Mine! Mine?" it_ croaked.

Jorah chuckled. "I would have thought that old bird would have died at the wall."

"Never," Jeor replied. "This bird refuses to die. It's of the North." He turned back to Lynesse. "It takes a hearty thing to last the winters and cold. You should have returned to the Tyrells if you knew what was good for you and your house's name. A Mormont is far below your station, and you're too petite to stand the cold, I reckon."

Jorah's lip twitched as he looked at his father. "Father, I-"

Jeor ignored Jorah entirely. "You like it here, compared to Oldtown?"

Lynesse smiled nervously. "It's quite different." She looked to Jorah and swallowed hard. His sudden change in demeanor concerned her. "It has taken some getting used to, my lo-, ser."

"I'm not a ser, either," Jeor laughed. He raised an eyebrow at his son. "I always thought you'd marry some strapping young Northern warrior once that Glover woman died. I always liked her, rest her soul. You had plenty of Northerners to choose from. The Crayhills offered you a daughter? Why not wed her?"

Jorah released Lynesse and took a step toward Jeor.

"I can hold a sword," Lynesse squeaked, peeking out behind him. "My lord husband taught me. I'm not quite a soldier, but I'm learning. And I've learned to chop wood. I may not be born of the north, but I've learned."

"Fine, fine," Jeor chuckled. "Playtime with the lady, eh? Get the juices flowing, as it were." He clapped Jorah on the shoulder and roared. The bird squawked and hopped up and down as if it were in on the joke.

"That's _enough,"_ Jorah snarled. "I won't have you here to disrespect me and my lady wife. You forget your place. You're no longer the lord of Bear Island." He was toe to toe with Jeor now. His father's steely blue eyes didn't break contact with his own. Suddenly it struck Jorah; hadn't his father always been taller than him? Somehow now his age or life on the wall had dragged him down several inches.

Completely unphased, Jeor clapped Jorah on the shoulder and backed away. "Stand down, young lord. I mean no offense." He looked back to Lynesse. "Life is hard here. I only mean to be honest. This isn't Oldtown. You shan't have the luxuries or comfort you once did."

"I'd have sailed south if I wanted Oldtown," Lynesse replied. "I indeed could have married a Tyrell, perhaps one of my children could have wed a Baratheon and become ruler of the seven kingdoms some day, as my sister dreamed."

A lump formed in Jorah's throat. Had he made a horrible mistake and doomed Lynesse to a horrible, primitive life? She enjoyed neither hunting nor fishing, riding or sailing.

Now it was Lynesse who stared down Jeor Mormont. "I wanted Jorah."

Finally, Jeor nodded and clapped his hands together in delight. "Good! Then let's feast in your honor."

* * *

After the feast, under the eyes of the islanders, Jorah swept his new bride onto the floor for a quick-paced dance. She laughed and commented that in the south, the first dance between a bride and a groom was traditionally slow and romantic. In response, Jorah twirled his wife around and dipped her.

"Lady Hightow- Lady _Mormont_ ," Dorian corrected himself as he confronted the couple. "Might I have this dance?"

Jorah rolled his eyes and bowed briefly to Lynesse. "And this is about how the rest of the night is going to go. Enjoy yourself. I'll see you at the end of the evening, most likely." He chuckled and kissed her once again.

"Oy, give me that bride!" Dorian demanded. "There are a lot of men waiting to dance with her."

"Of course," Lynesse beamed. She placed her hand on his shoulder as he swept her into the midst of the reveling islanders. "I trust we'll become close friends, as we're sharing my husband?"

Dorian laughed. "I appreciate that you're willing to give me custody of him, m'lady."

"What a strange few months," she sighed as they bounced to the music and cheers of the partiers. "Praying for my life in the middle of the sea, meeting all the islanders, marrying the lord of the island." Lynesse exhaled dramatically. "Who'd have ever written this? It's far too much of a tale for one woman."

Dorian dipped her. "Don't go hoping for a boring life now. You'll never have it with him."

"What do you mean?" Lynesse laughed. "And here I thought I was the most exciting thing to happen here for ages. Everyone said so."

"Aye, perhaps," he nodded. "But that's what we thought about Jorah, too, after the battle, but then he goes and wins every tournament from here to King's Landing. That man will never sit still."

"I'll cut in with the lady of Bear Island," Ned Stark boomed in his ear.

"Of course, Lord Stark," Dorian bowed, quickly ducking away from Lynesse.

* * *

Jorah watched from the side of the room, drinking wine and hearing jabs from Jory about which of the islanders was going to steal Lynesse away from him.

"I heard something I'm very pleased about," Cat said as she strode over.

"Hmm?" Jorah asked through his drink.

"House Mormont doesn't mark wedding night with the bedding ceremony?" Cat clasped her hands together. "Is that right?"

"Sure is," Jory nodded. "You won't find a woman on the island what would let a man tear off her clothes against her will." She glanced into the crowd. "And you can't find one who would want to strip a man naked what ain't her lover."

Jorah nodded. "It's a different culture here, Lady Stark."

"I'm pleased to hear that. I certainly didn't enjoy my own bedding." Cat cringed. Having so many strangers' eyes on me was so very-" she shuddered. "I'm pleased Lynesse won't have to endure the same, especially by this rowdy lot."

"An ale, Lady Stark?" Jory asked, remembering her manners.

Cat beamed and touched her stomach. "No, thank you, good lady. I'm with child."

Jorah clapped his hands together. "Congratulations. I'm sure Lord Stark is thrilled."

She nodded and watched Ned dance with Lynesse. "He is. It's strange to watch someone who has given everything good in life to you."

Across the dance floor, Lynesse cackled in delight at something Ned said. The sound warmed Jorah's chest and he nodded. "It is strange," he agreed with Cat. "She's everything."


	9. Midnight

**A/N: Currently debating with a friend whether Charlie Hunnam is an appropriate version of young Jorah? Or is the Jorah in your mind a young Iain Glen?**

Jorah Mormont and Lynesse Hightower enjoyed a happy marriage for exactly two weeks.

On the fourteenth night, Jorah sat with his legs extending over the arm of a chair, a book in his hands as the fire crackled before him. It was the last quiet night he was scheduled to have for some time, as a few northern lords were arriving to deliver their children as wards. He'd spend the evenings entertaining them for the rest of the week, and a night alone was perfection. Or so he thought until his door creaked open and Lynesse tripped in.

"What're you reading?" Lynesse asked as crossed the room, pushed his feet aside and perched on the arm of the chair.

"A study in cultures in Essos," Jorah replied, placing a marker in the book and setting it on the table next to the chair. "It's fascinating."

"As fascinating as your wife?"

"Never." He pulled her into his lap.

Lynesse giggled as he nibbled at her neck. "Essos? Fascinating? I never found their cultures all that interesting. Qarth, Yunkai. They're all the same." She wrinkled her nose. "I'd rather read a story or hear a song. Who holds your attention so rapt?"

"The Dothraki, at the present," Jorah replied. "Everything about their culture is different. You wouldn't even think of the ways they choose to surive."

"Like what?" Lynesse settled into his lap and stared dreamily into the fire. "Teach me."

"They do everything outside. They don't have buildings, but tents. They're nomadic, a horse people."

"Sounds terrible," Lynesse said. " _Everything_ outside?"

Jorah stroked her hair. "Aye. That's only the start of it. They fight differently, eat differently, even fuck differently." He raised an eyebrow. "Other cultures really are intriguing if you look into them more than what your septa dared teach you."

"How – how can you _fuck_ differently?" Lynesse asked, her interest obviously piqued.

"Under the sky, in front of the entire _khalesaar_. The positions they list make it seem like the woman is always mounted from behind." He considered it for a moment. "They _are_ a horse people. I imagine that's natural to them. They have sleeping mats, but no down mattresses or soft cushions Westerosi women enjoy."

Lynesse frowned, disappointed. "That's not so different. That's how the gay men do it. You'll have to do better than that to get me interested in Essos. And you're telling me you've never taken a woman from behind?"

"Not like this," Jorah laughed. "Here," he said as he reached for the book and flipped it back open. "Read this and tell me you've done that." He watched as Lynesse's eyebrows quirked at the descriptions.

"I- I- what?" she asked, squinting at the words as she re-read them. "That's like _animals._ "

"I told you it was different." Jorah took the book back and set it back in its place. "Their swords are curved, and probably more deadly from horseback than a sword, to be honest. Their clothes, too, they're made of painted leather, and the men wear braids with-"

Lynesse leaned forward. "Have you ever taken a woman under the stars?"

He cleared his throat. "You truly want to know details from my youth?"

"Well, no," Lynesse shrugged. "I thought perhaps you in all your studies would have looked into these cultural differences further." Something twinkled in her eye.

He shivered as she traced her fingers down his chest.

"I know you're a very thorough man." She knelt and kissed him. "That's all." Sliding off his lap, she sighed nonchalantly and turned to leave. "Should you need me for anything, I'll be with Cat, I suppose."

Jorah measured his words carefully. "You mean should I need you for anything like Dothraki sex out in the wood?"

Lynesse quickly turned and feigned innocence. "We shouldn't dare. Should we be caught performing such a savage act, well."

"It's our island," Jorah noted. "We dare do as we please."

"What do you know of their other behaviors?" Lynesse breathed seductively. "How do the Dothraki go about initiating these things? I doubt they discuss it in a room full of leather bound books."

Jorah shook his head. "The men are absolutely dominant. There are no niceties. It's rough and primitive."

A promiscuous smile at her lips, she shrugged. "Then why are you still talking?"

* * *

Silence hung in the wood. Their footfalls were crashing sounds but Jorah doubted anyone would be outside at this time of night. The idea of being out in the darkness flipped between erotic and ridiculous, but Lynesse's resolve and thrill drove him on.

Once the longhouse had gone from view, Jorah threw a cloak down and lightly pushed her onto it. "Get on your knees."

She turned, smiling coyly. "You said they were primitive and rough. That's what I want. I want it like them," she commanded him. "Take me like a rider."

That was all he needed. Jorah roughly took her by the shoulder and shoved her to all fours. Goosebumps spread down her thighs as he threw her skirts aside. She gasped and giggled already and the sound sent a surge through him. He pulled down his trousers and plunged into her, her cries and jeers only urging him on.

"Be quiet," he snarled, spanking her hard enough to leave a mark.

She couldn't. Her shrieks and giggles lasted until she finally shuddered and gasped. "Again," Lynesse panted. "Again. That was _fun._ "

Jorah wiped sweat from his temple. "I'll have you Westerosi style, then."

The crunch of leaves from nearby sent Jorah to his feet. "Who goes there?" He hastily belted his pants and reached for his sword belt.

Lynesse rolled over and righted her skirts. "Oh, gods," she giggled behind her hand. "They've surely heard me."

"Worse things have gone on out here," Jorah calmed her. He called out again. "It's Jorah. Who's there?"

The crunching drew nearer yet.

"This is your lord," Jorah threatened. "I'll not have a jest. Name yourself."

A soft growl answered.

Jorah's heart seemed to stop. "A bear," he said in a low, calm voice. "Lynesse, stand up. Quickly."

She jumped to her feet and rushed to Jorah, clutching his arm and plastering herself against him. "Why aren't we running?" Panic choked her. "Jorah! Let's go!"

"Shh."

The bear stalked toward them, finally revealed in the small clearing at last under the starlight. She was large and snarling, but stood her ground.

Jorah held his sword aloft and spoke as smoothly as he could. "Bears don't usually care to bother humans unless they're hungry. She only looks curious." He could feel his wife trembling violently against him. "Don't move. We'll be unharmed."

"Jorah," she whined. "Please, please."

The desperation in her voice was enough to instill fear in him, though he was confident that they'd survive the situation. "Lynesse," Jorah said firmly. "Just stay." He mentally berated himself for failing to warn her about bears. It was called Bear Island for a reason; hadn't the islanders joked for generations that their bastard children were half bears, and that one day they'd ride bears into battle? It was a way of life that House Mormont shared their homeland with the fierce monsters, yet Jorah completely neglected to train Lynesse in how to interact with the monsters. Now he'd surely pay for it.

Lynesse's hands were tight on his arm. "I can't," she squeaked. "Please!" She panted in terror and tugged at him. "Please, let's go, _please."_

The bear snuffled and growled, then turned slightly and looked back into the wood briefly.

Jorah nodded. "That's right. Go on. Humans are not for you. Good girl. That's it."

"Come _on!_ " Lynesse urged him, tugging at his elbow like a child at her mother. "Let's go, please, we can outrun it."

"We can't," Jorah repeated, never looking away from the animal. "Just stay. It will get bored and leave. She's not hungry. She'd have attacked us. The sound just attracted her. Don't worry. Just wait."

"We have to _go! Please_!" Lynesse's voice was naught but a high pitched squeak now.

The bear cocked its head and grunted. Its ears flattened back against its head and it snorted.

"You're making her angry," Jorah said calmly. "Don't scare her. Be calm, Lynesse. We'll be perfectly fine."

More crunching from the dark broke the stillness. A cub sauntered by, tumbling through the leaves, oblivious to them. It pawed at a tree branch on the ground and snapped at a leaf. Still young enough to be clumsy, it tumbled onto its back and squeaked in surprise. The cub looked back to its mother, now on the other side of Jorah and Lynesse. The distance and strangers startled it and the cub cried out in distress.

" _Fuck."_ Jorah reached for Lynesse. "Lynesse, don't-"

It was too late. She broke into a sprint, tugging at his arm. " _Now!"_ The force made Jorah lurch to the side. The mother bear was on him in three bounds, before he had time to regain his footing. One mighty slash of the beast's paw sent him to the ground. His sword landed in the leaves next to him with a dull thud.

" _Run!"_ Jorah called to her. "Get help!"

The bear roared in his face as Jorah clawed desperately for his sword. "No, _no,"_ he grunted. He rolled onto this stomach and crawled toward the hilt. Once it was in his hand, he tried to rise, but a strong claw caught his pant leg. Jorah struggled to remain on his front, but the bear easily flipped him onto his back. He thrashed about and hollered. The bear gave him another blow across the chest. Jorah wheezed; the force from the knocked the wind from him. Searing heat made him wonder if he'd been burned somehow.

The bear reared up and roared. Jorah raised his sword. When the bear reached back with a killing blow, it fell on the steel and screamed a wretched sound. Warm, thick blood oozed down Jorah's hands as the beast's weight forced it further onto the sword. He cried out in anguish as the bear groaned and shuddered, then fell lifeless, crushing him beneath her weight.

Whether it was a minute or a day later, Jorah had no idea. Suddenly there were voices everywhere, and the weight so heavy he could scarcely breathe.

" _Jorah!"_ Lynesse screamed. "There! There he is!"

"Fuck, mate," Dorian's voice was right with her.

Jorah tried to speak, but could only wheeze. Something was on his face then, and a metallic taste in his mouth, _probably blood,_ he thought in morbid serenity.

"Don't you die, you fucker," Dorian grunted.

Suddenly Jorah was free. "I'm alive," he coughed. He touched his chest. The searing pain and the intense throbbing of his own pulse in his ears proved that. "I'm alive." And then he knew no more.


	10. Bad News

The milk of the poppy finally wore off and Jorah jarred violently from sleep. "Lynesse," he mumbled.

"Stay down, stay down," Maester Wynn's voice came. "Your stitches, my lord!"

"Where is Lynesse?" Jorah rasped, struggling to open his eyes. Everything blurred into a drab scene until he rubbed his eyes. The ache in his torso flared into a searing pain, even as he rose his arms. " _Ugnnn."_

"My young lord," the maester sighed. "You're quite lucky to be alive. You know as well as I that the grizzlies are whelping. Your wounds are serious, but should have been fatal. They are extensive, but not deep."

Jorah realized he was in the infirmary, but the beds around him were empty. "Is Lynesse alive?" he demanded, bracing himself for the worst. "The bear," he recalled. A flash of memory reminded him of a grizzly bear on him, the pain, and Lynesse screaming. "Gods, Lynesse. Is she alive?"

"Yes, yes," the maester answered, disinterested. "You slew the bear with your own sword, my lord. I'll send someone to fetch her. She only finally just left to eat and sleep."

That was right. The warmth of the thick blood running down his forearms was disgusting; like nothing he'd felt before. Jorah nodded and cringed at the pain. "How long?"

Wynn frowned. "I've kept you asleep for two days with milk of the poppy, my lord. This won't be a pleasant next few weeks, I'm afraid." He brought a mirror to the bedside and held it above Jorah's torso.

The reflection made his breath catch in his throat. Long lacerations ran from hip to chest. Bright red, wet flesh stretched across his stomach where there should have been skin. Where each claw mark started and ended was a puzzle; several swipes from the bear left him utterly shredded. The maester and Lynesse had stitched the skin shut where they could, but other patches had no remaining skin to switch.

"Jorah," Lynesse cried from down the hallway. Pounding footfalls preceded her. She flung herself at the bed and Jorah winced as her weight settled on the mattress and he shifted against the bottom sheet. He hissed in pain.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she chanted as she bent and kissed his face repeatedly. Her face was drawn into something between a grimace and a remorseful frown. "This is all my fault. Dorian said if I hadn't run-"

"Jorah wouldn't be torn apart like a rag," Dorian's voice came. He and Ned Stark entered the infirmary, both looking solemn. Maester Wynn bowed and hurried out.

"That bad?" Jorah rasped.

"That bad," Dorian confirmed. "Have you seen your face? You're gray. You look like a ghost." He frowned. "And that's _after_ two days' healing."

Lynesse sniffled and stroked her husband's cheek. "I'm sorry. You'll heal. There were no punctures too deep, and-" she broke off and cried. "This was all my fault. It's my fault we were out there and my fault the bear attacked."

"Enough," Jorah softly commanded her. "Someone was bound to catch an angry bear on this island at some point or another." He tried to roll and adjust in the bed, but he coughed and swore. A jolt spread through his body as quickly and as powerful as lightning.

Ned and Dorian exchanged a glance and looked away as Jorah cried out in agony. Dorian touched Lynesse's arm. "Come, Lady Mormont," he urged her gently. "Let's give him a moment, and you need some fresh air, hmm?" He pulled her to her feet. "He's not going anywhere." She continued to cry, but allowed Dorian to escort her away.

"What is it?" Jorah whispered after they'd gone, his voice failing him. "How bad?"

Ned pursed his lips. "It's not about your healing. Lynesse speaks the truth. They pieced you together, stopped the bleeding. You may be part bear now, though, from how the animal drenched you in its own blood. You were a frightful sight. I'm afraid Cat will have nightmares about you for years." He offered a small grin, then heaved a sigh. "I'm afraid your day will only get worse, my friend." He fished a note from his pocket. "Word from King's Landing. Robert bids Lynesse Hightower return home and marry Mace Tyrell."

Jorah scoffed. "I've already married her."

"I already sent word of that," Ned replied hesitantly. "I'm sorry, my friend. This is his second response. He has a septon ready to annul the marriage. I'm afraid his word is final. Lynesse is to return to Oldtown, or you'll be hanged as an enemy of the crown."


	11. Exile

**Author's Note: I hope you all had a festive and fun holiday season!**

The ship creaked and bobbed a hundred yards off shore. Jorah eyed it, utterly disheartened. There was nothing wrong with the ship itself; it was far more majestic than Jorah thought his situation warranted. A traitor fleeing the king usually didn't do so in such plush accommodations. Ned Stark had seen to the arrangements as Jorah healed from his bear attack wounds, though, and the bear lord could hardly send the ship away now. Its small crew moved about, unbothered by the small party gathered on the beach. House Mormont, the Starks, and Dorian had gathered to see Lynesse and Jorah off.

"This is far too much," Jorah muttered. "Should Robert-"

"Forget about Robert," Ned replied, clapping Jorah on the shoulder. "I was raised with him as a brother. If anyone can talk sense into him, it's me. Go. Enjoy your time in the sun. Think of it as a wedding gift, aye?"

Jorah mustered a nod. "Aye." The fire from his healing stomach and chest burned every hour of the day and this dreary afternoon was no different. The prospect of spending days on the sea wasn't appealing, neither was dragging Lynesse back onto a ship. She had been silent on most matters since his bear attack and it annoyed him. Her guilt served no purpose to him or to her for that matter. In regards to sailing again, she'd never said a word in opposition, but Jorah could tell by the apprehension on her face that the idea wasn't favorable.

Dacey and Jory exchanged looks before the elder stepped forward. "If Lord Stark can talk sense into the king, you don't have to leave," Dacey spat to Jorah as Dorian lifted his and Lynesse's trunks into a rowboat. "Enough," she growled, shoving him out of the way. "You cannot run away from your people. Your father did already. You cannot do it. You'll shame House Mormont." Lynesse's trunk landed in the sand with a _thud_ and she reached for Jorah's.

"Lady Dacey, I'm ordering this of him." Ned shook his head. "Your house will keep its strong reputation and House Stark will make sure of it."

Jory was struggling to keep her face solemn. She reached out and touched Jorah's shoulder. "We'll go fight the Baratheons to keep you here, cousin. But say they word and we'll take arms. You shouldn't have to flee to exile."

"We'll do no such thing," Ned barked. "In a few months Lord Mormont will return. Robert will come to his senses. _He will!_ This isn't forever. Only a mad king would tear apart happy marriages." He clapped Jorah on the shoulder and squeezed it. "This is _not_ exile."

"I'll take your word," Jorah sighed. He nodded briefly to Dacey. "You're acting Lady of Bear Island in my stead."

"Bullshit," she spat. "I'm no lady."

"You are," Jorah said. "Those are my commands, as your lord."

She pursed her lips and nodded. "M'lord." Dacey turned and stormed back toward the longhouse, Jory in tow.

Jorah looked to Lynesse, who had looked guilty for the past month and a half as Jorah healed and Robert sent ravens demanding her presence in Oldtown. Her gaze remained on the sand and she didn't speak. Even the sight of her with doubt and shame in her eyes made him smile. "Are you ready to arrive somewhere warm?" he asked.

"Yes, my lord," she answered dully.

Cat grasped Lynesse's hands. "What an adventure you'll have. I've never been across the Narrow Sea. When you return, imagine the stories you'll have! Come to Winterfell and tell me everything. You can meet this new babe, and Robb and Sansa, too."

"And Jon," Ned added tiredly.

Lynesse nodded. "I'd like that. Who knew I'd be seeing so many exciting places in such a short period? How life changes."

"The ship awaits, my love," Jorah said as he helped her into the rowboat. He then turned and struck out his hand to Ned, then to Dorian, but his friend passed him and tossed another small trunk into the boat.

"You think I'm letting you set out on this adventure without me?" Dorian laughed, pushing his curly hair back from his brow. "Not a chance."

"Your place is here," Jorah said, fiercely trying to beat back his joy and replace it with his lordly displeasure. "I'll not drag my people with me into this mess."

"You're not dragging," Dorian shrugged. "I've always wanted to find me a dark-haired girl. Essos sounds like just the place." He bowed briefly to the Starks. "Lord Stark. Lady Stark. I wish you many more children and good fortune. Lady Mormont, move over, unless you're rowing." With that, he began to push the boat into the water. "Jorah, you coming or are the stories going to say I stole the lady of Bear Island right out from under her lord husband's nose?" He draped an arm around Lynesse's shoulders. "She's the furthest thing from dark haired, but I suppose she'd do just fine. After all, she can chop firewood now, I hear!"

"I think not," Jorah laughed, splashing through the water and jumping in. "The story would go that the lord of Bear Island cut down his own man for insulting the lady's honor. Come, Lynesse has much better taste than the likes of you."

Finally Lynesse was giggling again.

Perhaps a trip to Essos wouldn't be so bad after all.

Who his connection in Essos was, Jorah had no idea, but Ned had already contacted someone and set up a manse for Jorah and Lynesse.


	12. Maegi

Lynesse leaned on her hand and watched the waves out the window. Today they were green and choppy as a dark gray sky overhead poured rain on them unceasingly. The conditions were the same as the day her entire house perished, but she wouldn't allow herself to fear. Instead, she turned to Dorian, who had taken it upon himself to serve her as her own personal jester for the past month at sea. "Enjoying your grand adventure?"

Dorian beamed as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "An adventure, my lady, doesn't always get off to the most thrilling start. Besides, you lot will need my help. I've pulled you from the sea and pulled your husband from under a bear." He grinned and kicked his feet up on the table. "I truly don't know what you'd do without me. Neither of you would even be alive to be complaining about the old stag."

Rolling her eyes, Lynesse cuffed him on the arm. "You're positively full of yourself."

"Me?" he replied. "I'll remind you that I'm not the lord of anything, but one of us is stomping around wearing the cloak," he tossed his own cloak dramatically over his shoulder. "Giving orders, walking with that obnoxious new swagger of his-"

"I'll use that lordly swagger to toss you overboard," Jorah strode toward him. "It's a long way to Essos, my friend." He sighed and joined them. "I hate fleeing like this. Weeks at sea when I should have been home with the islanders."

"Ned said it won't be long." Lynesse took his hand. "We'll go home as soon as he talks sense into King Robert."

"Talk sense into a Baratheon?" Dorian snorted. "Unlikely." He took out a knife and began to whittle a small block that had started to resemble a bear. "I expect to find a wife and stay there in the sunshine. You should get used to the idea of Essos being your new home. The Lannisters and Tyrells won't have their honor knocked by a northman. Maybe if it was a Stark, but not the likes of House Mormont."

Jorah pursed his lips. Dorian was right. His faith in Ned had been solid, but Jorah had forgotten to account for the pride of the queen. Lynesse and Dorian continued to bicker playfully, but Jorah turned to the window and sulked, wondering what would become of his life at the expense of Cersei Lannister.

* * *

Who his connection in Essos was, Jorah had no idea, but Ned had already contacted someone and set up a manse for Jorah and Lynesse. The big yellow house had a red door and a lemon tree in the back courtyard. It was a quaint lodging and Jorah hoped his wife found it as homey as he did.

"My, my," Dorian sang out. "I certainly made the right choice here. There's no place like home, and this place is certainly _nothing_ like Bear Island." He picked up a fruit from a tray on the table. "I don't even know what this is, but it looks delicious."

"It _is,_ " Lynesse nodded eagerly, a pink stain at her lips from the fruit she'd already eaten. Her melancholy had melted away and been replaced by anxiety and panic on the ship, but at night in Jorah's arms, she'd calmed, and finally had returned to her old self again.

"Let's look around the neighborhood, shall we?" Dorian suggested.

"Go ahead. I'm afraid I'm to meet with a few lords," Jorah muttered as he read over a note from Ned. "I'll join you for dinner later."

* * *

Lynesse touched silky fabrics and smelled alien fruit, admired wild patterned fabric and thought of her fur on the bed in their new home and how it had roamed these lands when it was alive.

"Oi," Dorian called. "Watch your back, Lynesse." The soldier hurried after her. "Don't get so far away from me, aye? I've not been in these lands. I don't trust the people yet. You look like a right and proper lady and I'd pick you out if I were a thief, to be sure."

Lynesse blinked. "Oh. Of course. You're right. I'm just so used to my father's guards stationed everywhere, I suppose I've never had to think about that. Thank you."

A merchant who spoke the common tongue heard her and called out, "Westerosi! My lady, my lady, a special treat to show you the wonders of Essos, come, please!"

"Me?" Lynesse replied, a smile at her lips. "What's this treat?"

Dorian scowled and held her back. "I trust them not."

Undeterred, the merchant waved her over with sweeping gestures. His deep black eyes and shining gold jewelry was exotic, tempting. "A maege, my lady! The magicks of the Eastern World await inside the tent. Do go, see what fortunes she has for you."

Lynesse turned to Dorian. "That sounds fun. Let's?"

One side of his lip pulled upward in apprehension and suspicion. "I think not, m'lady. The old gods wouldn't like that very much, I don't suspect."

"You don't have to do it. I don't fear the old gods. They've already shown me their worst. Now it's just men that I fear. The gods would want you to look after me, right? Come on!" Lynesse stepped into the tent and gasped when a woman more beautiful than any she'd seen sat cross-legged on a cushion on the floor. "I thought witches were old and ugly," Lynesse smiled. "You can't be one, then. Do you speak the common tongue?"

The maegi wrinkled her nose and shook her head. "These Westerosi think we are dark magic. No, no. Only knowing what spirit world tells us, what the lines say. I read hand lines." The girl gestured to the cushion beside her. "For the lady? I tell you what you want to know." She looked up at Dorian and smiled. "You are safe, Westerosi lord. The spirit tell me you no trust to be here."

Dorian scoffed and let his hand rest on his hilt. "I'm only escorting the lady, witch."

Lynesse handed the girl a coin and settled on the bright cushion. "Please. Forgive my man. We have no maegis in Westeros." Rolling up the sleeve of her dress, she realized how nervous she was. "Do I ask questions?"

"It lines and energy." The maegi took Lynesse's hand. Her demeanor changed immediately. She bit her lip and frowned, her brow furrowed. "Darkness. Death." Brown eyes flickered upward briefly. "The destruction of a house."

"Yes," Lynesse nodded, uncertain whether she should be impressed or disappointed because the girl surely was just repeating what everyone knew of House Hightower. "My house was lost in a shipwreck. They all died on a stormy night."

"No," the woman shook her head. "Your future." She ran her hand over Lynesse's palm, then gently pushed her fingers back to stretch the skin. "You'll bring ruin wherever you go."

"My husband's father has told me as much," Lynesse tried to joke. The woman's face frightened her and she wanted to pull her hand away. "Ruin how?"

"You must leave this place. You must leave your husband." The girl chewed anxiously at the inside of her lip. "It would be the end of him. But important things are assign to him. You must not end this man."

"No," Lynesse scoffed. "We're going to have children soon. The heir to Bear Island. Our sons will be the future of the north. _That's_ important."

"My lady, let's be done with this witch," Dorian growled.

The girl shook her head manically. "No, no, you must leave this bear lord. You will bring ruin to his house and devastation to his name." The longer she held Lynesse's hand, the more irritated she became. "No, no! You listen to me. _Heed my word!"_

Lynesse rolled her eyes at the show, but gasped when the girl sank her nails into her arms. "Ow, stop!"

"Go! Go!" she screeched. "You'll kill him!" She held Lynesse's hand tightly, as if she was unable to let go. Her eyes were wide in horror. "Death. Death. Death."

Glancing around in embarrassment, Lynesse hissed, "Please, stop!" People in the market had stopped to peer in the tent and watch the spectacle.

Dorian's sword was drawn, but something stopped him from using it. "Lynesse," he breathed cautiously. "Lynesse?"

Now the maege was writhing on the floor, screaming over and over, _"DEATH! DEATH! DEATH!"_

Lynesse stumbled to her feet and clung to Dorian's arm. "Take me from this place," she breathed.

As they rushed from the tent back to their manse, the cries and moans carried on the air and echoed in their heads.

 _Death. Death. Death._


	13. Goodbyes

"Something's wrong," Jorah said one morning as Lynesse sat sighing and brushing her hair in the mirror. "What is it?"

Clearing her throat to give her a moment to think, Lynesse shrugged. "Nothing, I guess."

"Something is certainly amiss. You're not yourself." He knelt by her side and touched her leg. "What is it? Do you miss Westeros?"

The maegi's words swirled in her mind, and her decision seemed harsh now. She had to soften the blow somehow, but it wasn't the Hightower way to be cruel. "I, I _hate_ it here," Lynesse hissed. The lie made her stomach churn. Essos was just as comfortable as Bear Island had been; more so, even. And Jorah, wonderful Jorah, was doing everything he could to ensure her happiness. Yet those harsh words and the hysteric screaming of the maegi wouldn't leave her mind; ringing day in and day out.

The heartbreak in his eyes was obvious and unmasked. "It's not forever," he offered softly. "We'll be going home soon. Ned will figure everything out."

Lynesse nodded and stared at her own reflection.

"Let's go to the market," Jorah suggested. "I'll round up Dorian. It'll be fun. Have you tried all of the food? They have good sweets here." He touched her chin. "No worries, no thinking about the future or fretting about the past. We'll just go spend a day together."

Against her better judgment, Lynesse nodded excitedly. "Yes, let's!"

* * *

The market was as charming as the first time she'd visited it. The bright colors, exotic music, and boisterous crowd made for a morning that more than distracted Lynesse from the gypsy woman's premonitions. Though they were elbow to elbow with people all shades of tan and peach, Lynesse had never felt more at ease. Her place was in a crowded square with people, not locked away in a palace like many of the royal ladies preferred.

Dorian was carrying a bag of trinkets the trio had purchased, and more than enough sweets to last their house a month. He chuckled and winked at a dancing girl who was swiveling her hips in the street.

"I truly mean it," he announced. "I'm going to stay here."

"You can't stay here," Jorah scoffed. "You belong on Bear Island."

Wrinkling his nose, Dorian shook his head. "Nah. You don't need me. You two will have a strapping young heir before long and I can stay here and enjoy the delicacies."

"You're positively awful," Lynesse giggled as Dorian watched another dancing girl as she sashayed toward him.

Suddenly screams filled the air. A skirmish broke out nearby and quickly spilled toward them. Jorah was knocked backward and separated from Dorian and Lynesse.

Several men with blades were shouting and swinging as women and shoppers rushed to get out of the way. Lynesse didn't understand their words or language, but knew it wasn't a friendly conversation.

"Lynesse," Dorian barked, jumping into the fray and grabbing her arm. "Jorah, here!"

Jorah swept Lynesse into his arms and stepped into a stall to avoid the chaos. The commotion died down fairly quickly, but when they looked back out, Dorian lay on the ground, a wide red smile at his throat.

Lynesse fell to her knees and touched his chest. "Dorian, Dorian, get up. We must go." He was dead, of course, and part of her knew it. The other part pawed at him and begged him to rise. Not a minute ago he lived. Not a minute ago he planned his future and joked and laughed and did everything she adored about him. "Dorian, you fool, come along!"

"Lynesse," Jorah choked. "He's gone." He shook his head and pulled her to her feet. "He's gone, he's gone."

Like all of the other good in her life, Dorian was now just a memory.

* * *

That night Jorah sat and stared at a tapestry on the wall, saying nothing and sitting perfectly still. His eyes were red and his face had suddenly grown long as if the day cast a decade onto him.

Lynesse wept all day and would have cried more upon seeing her husband's solemn vigil if she had any more tears to cry. Her ribs and lungs ached. It was time. She could bring no more hurt to her beloved bear.

When night came and Jorah finally fell asleep, silent tears streamed down her face as Lynesse pulled her pack from a trunk. The lid creaked as she lowered it back onto the box. Heart pounding, she whipped her head back to look at Jorah. Still he slept soundly.

Her chest ached. It would only take her putting her pack back and crawling back into bed, and everything would be back to normal. Lynesse could fall at his feet and apologize and explain everything, and he would scoff at the maegi's words and bend and scoop Lynesse in his arms, burying his face in her hair. He would assure her that Dorian's death was a foolish happening, not the result of a cure cast upon her. She took a few steps back to the bed, but stopped.

 _Death._

New tears streamed from her eyes. "I love you," she whispered. "My bear." When he woke in the morning, Jorah would be devastated. No matter how horrible she had been to him, he'd only loved her more. _He doesn't deserve this._ Lynesse considered dropping her pack and again began to cross the room to the bed. She'd shower him with kisses and give herself to him.

 _You'll kill him!_

Her legs bean to quake and Lynesse knelt to the floor. Jorah was just out of her reach, but she couldn't bring herself to crawl to the bed and touch him.

 _Death! Death! Death!_

Her heart beat out of time as she gritted her teeth and wept. How many kind words had he spoken that she'd forgotten? How many touches, kisses? Lynesse squeezed her eyes shut and tried to remember.

 _DEATH! DEATH! DEATH!_

Stumbling to her feet and casting one last glance at Jorah, trying to memorize his features and recall his voice, Lynesse wiped her face and took a deep breath. Whatever lie ahead of her didn't matter. What mattered was that her husband lived. "I'll love you as long as I live," she whispered, watching him sleep as long as she dared before silently slipping out the door.


End file.
